


A piece of the humble pie.

by chiyokintou



Series: 50's au [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Alternate universe - 50's, I'm Sorry, If I offended any coloured people with this, M/M, because it's a 50's au and all, cultures clash, jeanmarco, jeanmarco 50's au, know you are beautiful I love you this isn't the writer talking when I'm being racist, marcojean - Freeform, marcojean 50's au, might be a little bit racist, race differences, snk, snk 50's au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's a university student; respected, white and from a well known family. Marco is an bastard child working his ass off in the Negro streets and hiding himself in the embarrassment the love of his white father and his black mother left.<br/>Jean's curiosity towards sins leads to a love and all the consequences that go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From bricks to jazz.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 50's au between two races and cultures! This means it might come off as a little bit racist. I am truly sorry for that and the words I say about both races aren't mine (I am just telling the story) so beforehand I'll appologize for every single racist thing you might read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special super thanks to my sweet Beta reader (:

June 1954

University is full of imposters.

All around me are people booming about how we are enlightened yet, we only mimic and goggle at what Europeans achieve. Enlightened. Enlightened. The only thing they let me light is my cigarette and my hate for lighting up the inequality of our human rights. Which is my subtle yet assholic way of saying I would wholeheartedly enjoy lightning people who support that inequality on fire. Not that I would, because it’s like a sheep giving the butcher a knife. Because I, indeed, am one of those people who have the right to do every single thing they please. No paper needed, all I need is a sun to reflect on my white skin and air to move my words so people can hear the surname I just hissed:  Kirschtein. Half French half German. The right and money to be an unusually open asshole.

So that might make me seem like a whole more of an objective being but -like every other kid that has been spoiled into this time of peace- I feel this vigorous need to break down every single one of my privileges. Preferably brick by brick. I’m not even going to deny I do it to annoy the hell out of society: the ones who think they raise university students to grow up to be negro hating, privileged brainless followers of the European classics.  

I do this thing slowly, by cursing, by looking down on the man of the house, by being one room with a taken woman, and going into the negro streets at night to listen warm, dark voices yet be screamed at by light ones in bed in the morning. With which I am referring to sex with ignorant girls and my stern yet lovely mother.  I don’t enjoy it. They are bricks.

“Kirschtein”. The one saying this was one of my hammers: The negroe man in the negro streets, serving all his the negro lovers, or the people that had grown this awful love for the danger, undergrounds and jazz and blues, all night while throwing some immense amount whiskey down their throats. Like me. They were just like me. The addicted ones, not the negroes.

I actually loved being the French social outsider that heads to those streets at night. How terrible. How scandalous. How dare he.

Amazing isn’t it?  

“Good evening Mister Wilson, I’d like the usual,”  I replied as he started making my drink. Mr Wilson always smiled- his teeth seemed whiter than those of any ordinary person’s.

I glanced at the singer and all the people that wouldn’t ever come here at day time.They sat talking and laughing while I silently sat usual place with my usual haughty look planted on my face. Silently I hoped and knew I would end up with one of the girls who were after money and an adventure; a whore or a slut, a woman looking for love or money or whatever she needed. They knew I would have it and they would take it from me without knowing who turn out to be at the end of the evening.

“Looking for a lady tonight?” Wilson asked, to which I nodded with a cigarette stuck between my lips.  “My sister was ruined by men like you.”

“Sounds interesting; go on,” I blew the words out together with my smoke. A smirk on my mouth and a negro man laughing as if he was looking down on me.

“Not much to it; white asshole like you came along and left again. Now we have a bastard child no one can take care of. Half negro half Italian. Straight hair but darker skin and he managed to even get freckles from one of the two. Works here on weekdays when there aren’t many people around, because it would make the whites uncomfortable.”

“So he’s a social outsider.”

“Kirschstein, how many bastard children from one white and one black have you seen in your whole life?”

I think that’s where I decided I would come on weekdays too. Because I then too had the vigorous need to break down all the bricks. And I wanted what was wrong. And I wanted to see what no one wanted. I was a white man. Like others, I seemed to think of these people as something else than I was... maybe that was the reason.  I was curious. As if I had never seen an elephant and I wanted to see one. As if I had never tasted a cup of coffee and I wanted to get one. Just to try and see.  “I have never seen one, Mr. Wilson.”

That night I didn’t take one of those ignorant girls home. One I would lie to about having to work in the morning or about how I was going to war or a peace mission in a while and needed to sort everything out.  I came home alone and I thought about this bastard child. My imagination running wild. Uglily curled hair, white teeth but a not completely white skin. An asshole. If two cultures come together in one body you become an asshole. Even if it’s just a little bit. I have only taken in a little bit of another culture and I became an asshole. He’d be one too. He’d be cocky and none of nothing and all of everything. Ugly. Looks look weird when mixed. Stinking. Our sour smell was even worse when mixed with their muff one.

I finished class and walked towards the negro streets. My mind was overflowing with the useless and my stomach growling for the useful. It even took me quite something to keep my feet moving. The smell of foreign foods filling my nose and soon my brain too. I passed the negro church and realised that the Protestantism in our church is one big lie compared to how small and held back theirs is.   

I passed people who stared at me like they were going insane. Men took their hats off and women held their children close. It’s quite unusual to see a man like me walking in those parts of the city. I didn’t mind them. I ignored it until I heard a familiar bell ringing.

“Good afternoon Mr. Kirschtein, surprised to see you ‘round here this time a’ day.”

“You know that’s a lie Mr. Wilson; you practically asked for it,” I had said while sitting down on a table and smirking broadly

“Ain’t never been my intention.” He knew what I was talking about still. He knew all too well, he winked at me because of it, and then he opened his mouth “Marco!”

From somewhere in the back Jean heard a voice, “Coming sir!”

Within seconds a boy was running up to him. A slightly dark colored boy, but with straight hair.  Freckles all over his bright face. A big smile on his face; as if he was alright with what he was; as if he actually liked the world we live in.   “Good afternoon sir, may I take your order?” Not even fazed by the fact I was a white man in the black parts, in their dark shop, with their spiced food.

“Yeah, I’d like a beer.” I carefully studied his face while he wrote. He was nothing like I had thought he’d be. He was calm and his hair looked rough but not ugly. His eyes were dark but not as dark as Mister Wilson’s. The two cultures seemed to have created something together. Something good, I thought, and also something real; this was new. “And a sandwich with bacon.”   

“Coming right up.”

His voice was lower than mine. That pissed me off a little. Specially since my higher voice sounded a lot more aggressive but still less intimidating.  I was little upset because I am an asshole, and I will pass it off as something that happens when you break down a few of your bricks, and therefore become a social outsider, and yet this guy was a freaking derelict and yet he managed to genuinely show everyone his shiny white teeth in the biggest smile ever.

It made me angry.

It held me and my thoughts captive.

I studied him when he came back too. It was absolutely insane. He was charming. He was honestly and truly charming. I had never said that about a black male, but this time I meant it more than I ever would would for a white woman. Of course this was also because marrying and having sex with white women came forth out of my sense of responsibility while studying and lusting after men came forth out of ludicrous lust and my circle of thoughts running wild.

I mainly denied and pushed away these needs. Sometimes I let them get the better of me, a case in which I’d end up in a cheap hotel no one knew of with my legs parted. Never had I woken up next to a man though. Never would I let it get that far. It was something quick and instinctive; for a few hours I’d be an animal. For a few hours I would be a ruin, but quickly I’d build myself back. I wasn’t going to fall down, I was just going to make it cold and windy; not wet.

The days after that I went every time I got the chance. Just because it was so damn amusing. The boy’s smile kept me busy. On Thursday he talked to me about something different than my order. I was- like I had done before- looking through a university book with a frown on my face and my feet on another chair. ‘Watch your manners, Kirschstein!’ my mother would have screamed hysterically if she had seen me. Yet she wasn’t there, nor was anyone else. No one was going to scold a grown white man. Though.. that’s wasn’t all, no one seemed to care either. About that at least.

΅University?”  I looked up at Marco’s smiling face.

“ ‘xuse me?”

A blush changed his half blood skin color as he went on “I’m sorry. I mean, I see you are in university.. that’s amazing.”

“Not really,” I brought my cigarette towards my mouth. At that moment I hadn’t thought about the fact he would have probably only gone to school until 12th or something like that. Maybe he hadn’t gone to school as there were only colored and white schools. It was inconsiderate but still not very surprising.  

“I wish I had the chance,” he mumbled. Then his eyes widened and panic seemed to wash over him, “erm, I’m sorry for bothering you sir.. I shouldn’t ha-”

“No- no it’s fine.. would you care to sit down with me?”  I could ask about him. About his father and mother, his school, skin color and freckles.  

“I shouldn’t.”

I smiled, “But you will?” Who was the other boy to deny him or his offer? So he sat down. Nervous. Shaking.. Handsome. “Didn’t go to school?”

Marco shook his head, hesitating for a second. “I didn’t, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir’, you ain’t younger than I am are you?”

“I don’t think so but-”  I am white. Of course.  

I rolled my eyes and went on with the earlier conversation, “So you’ll be stuck with old man Wilson here?” That cost the other boy to painfully look down and me to get stabbed with guilt for offending the half blood.

“Probably.”

“Do you cook?” the word ‘sorry’ was one of the many I am allergic to.

Marco nodded and smiled nervously, “I do.”

“Food here ain’t half bad.” That was most likely the biggest compliment I had ever given someone that was not a white woman. I was never one to give compliments. Nor one to be nice to people what so ever.

“Thank you,” we smiled at each other for a bit. Rebellious really, giving such a look to an half blood but never to any man in my university. “I’m Marco Bodt.”

I took the hand Marco had held out, “I know.. I’m Jean Kirschstein.”

“Oh.. I..  should I even be talking to you?”  he knew the surname.

“No.”  The look on the other boy’s face was proper damn terrified. I had never cared all too much about such.  “but I highly enjoy it”  The cockiest smirk was plastered on my face. I licked my own lip, amused at the other boy who didn’t know how to reply. “I’d like the same thing as the days before: a bacon sandwich."

“So I didn’t dare to ask you before, but what brings you here every day? You know.. to this part of the city, leaving a tip that could get you to any place in the centre and all,” Marco managed to choke out a few days after we had first started talking. Small chitchats and lots of weird looking blushing from the half blood’s side.

“If I told you I come here because of you, would you believe me?”

“Most definitely not.”

“Well then, let’s just say I’m studying the oppressed.”

“Excuse me?”

I smiled and took a bite of my sandwich. I chewed slowly and then swallowed cockily. “Everything is boring. The kids in shorts and skirts, the ladies make their own flower dresses, giggling and gossiping their wine away, the university mimics, and men judge my all.”  I leaned over the table, “Which one of those do you see here, Bodt?”

“None. That’s the perfection of civilization you’re pointing at though, ya’ hate the perfection you were born into?”

“Never had a choice, and accepting ain’t really my thing.”

Marco smiled at me and held his serving tray close.  “If only we had a choice, am I right?”  

I never got over how sad he sounded while saying that. Of course my intention hadn’t been to make him feel better about the whole situation, most likely the opposite. Still the sad vibration of his voice never got out of my mind. Not when I left. Not when I looked at him while eating. Not ever. I had never really felt bad for being an asshole, but it was really happening. Which was completely insane. What did the damn bastard have that others didn’t?

A lot.

He had a lot that others didn’t; races fighting inside of him, a new level of social oppression, constant self hate for being born the way he was, freckles on cappuccino skin, lack of schooling, and a smile to melt for.

Though that last one’s a bit out of place, it was still the truth and like all ; he brought the truth quite directly.

Like the ‘hey have sex with me’ or the ‘averagely seen I’m better than you are’.  Still, I hadn’t used any of those on Marco. It was probably because of the warmth and the sun. I was a little less pissed off than I usually was.   

“So can you read?”  I asked one day as I nodded for Marco to sit down on the same table as I was sitting. Marco knew that I liked talking about our differences and that refusing would most likely only get me pissed off; at least our relationship had gotten that far, credit to Marco for learning quickly.

“Actually I can, my mother taught me.”

“She did now? How did she do it? My mother wouldn’t be able to, I tell ya’.”  I was once again being nicer than I had been in a long time. Mr Wilson would sometimes smile at me for doing so; it easily turned me into a jerk again,so he had stopped doing so.

“Well we don’t really own books so she taught me out of a Bible: the only book we own.”

I laughed a little, thinking he was joking, then I realized that his joking tone had only been there to hide his embarrassment; he probably didn’t own any book except from the Bible. He was black. Half. Half black. “Why don’t you buy a book? You don’t get paid here?”

“I don’t, actually,” he looked down. “That’s fine though! Mr. Wilson is taking great care of me!”

I smiled at the innocence. I rarely saw it anymore. Everyone was constantly trying to save their own ass this time a day.  And so some kind of warm wave washed over me. Some kind of realization of how innocence worked. It held me captive; like Marco’s smile. It was stupid and weird and I would never even search for the same feeling again; it disgusted me a little after I felt it.  “Why don’t you take my book then?” I held out the book I had been reading, it was boring and full of romantic crap even when I thought it would be more philosophical and  psychological.

“What?! No, no, I can’t do that, books are expensive and-”

“Telling me I couldn’t buy another one, half blood boy?”

Marco blushed and looked down. “It’s just that uh.. you are reading it right now and I have never really received such a present.”  

“I dislike it. Ain’t my style.”

“Sorry Mr Kirschstein, I can’t take it, I-”

I grunted loudly and rolled my eyes. Sick of this man’s innocence? Not quite. Did I pretend I was absolutely through with him, towards everyone including myself? I sure was. “Fine, get me the freaking check then.”

Marco bowed a little and then quickly scurried. Guilt built up inside of me. Something that hadn’t happened since I was a kid. I was surprised by it, to such a length that I didn’t react when Marco put the check in front of me and whispered a kind “thank you”.

It pissed me off. It really did.

I put my money on the table with a slam, a few dollars too much as I didn’t feel like counting. Then I took all my stuff together, pushed a cigarette between my lips, and left the damn novel on the crappy table. I couldn’t not leave it. I couldn’t not give it to Marco. I wouldn’t lose. I wouldn’t be refused. It was cockiness. The shame of getting stuck into such a warm loving mood and not even getting anything out of it, being bad at being generous too.

Not feeling the need to be generous was one thing, not being able to be generous was on a whole new level, and I refused to get on that level. So I left the damn book and walked off with a cocky smirk on my face. “The tip and the book are for Marco, Mr. Wilson,” I remarked before leaving into the not-all-too-fresh city air. Passing the cheapest houses. The colored whores. Street music and people on the ground. The after war happiness everyone still seemed to somehow share.

I couldn’t care less about people dying or not. Other men did. Other men cared about marrying white women, universities, and the economy. I didn’t.  Another thing had caught my fancy, it wasn’t white, it wasn’t smart, it wasn’t rich.


	2. From Nihonmach to Harlem.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren, Mikasa and Armin exist. 
> 
> Also Jean shows Marco some university basics and Marco shows Jean how to be humble.

“Do you reckon’ the Japanese Americans are comin’ back any time soon?”  Eren - a friend from university- asked Armin -the smarter of the two- while leaning over a table with some beer in his hand. Once again. The same old’ question. It’d been about ten years since the Japanese neighborhood had been cleaned out and he’d been asking the question ever since. At first he’d smile. “When the war is over they ought to come back, ain’t it Armin?”. Armin had never denied it, though he knew as well as I did that there were no signs of the Japs ever coming back.

Ever since Pearl Harbor was attacked byJapanese, the Japanese Americans had been outsiders. Every Chinese person - though they once were less than Japanese- started wearing the words “I am Chinese” on their clothes because only God could keep the two separated. Eren and Armin were constantly worried back then too. Though it wasn’t long after, in 1942, that the American Japs were taken somewhere safer. Eren once visited such a place; he said whole families were living together in one small room. Their girl had been pushed into a room with another familyas the men were called to fight in the army and her mother had been long gone.

I understood what they were so angry about, but it was only logical; she was Japanese. Did they want them strolling around our streets after such a thing happened? Did they really think that she’d come back and she’d be able to get food anywhere?

“Soon, Eren, I think soon.”

“You kiddin’? Jap town is all empty; how they gone’ live when they get here?”

“It’s called Nihonmachi.”

“So the German is speaking Japanese for his girlfriend, ain’t that always the way?”

“Shut the fuck up. Like you got right to talk?”

“I’m like fifth generation or such.” I had once before seen the Japanese girl; she was gorgeous, I have to admit. Though I’d never say such a thing to Eren. I just had a thing for outsiders. Blond, red skin, nicely dressed. All of those were turn off’s to me. “Anyway Eren, if your girlfriend does come back, you won’t be able to talk to the Jap will you?”

“Don’t fucking call Mikasa that!”

“Well she is one ain’t she?”

Eren stood up and tightly took my shirt. I knew how to push his buttons and I was doing it way too gladly. Mikasa. That was his button. Foolishly he had fallen into whatever relation he had with such a girl.  

“Guys please!” Armin knew how to push Eren’s buttons even better; they listened to each other. The three of them. I had seen them together and I had seen them talk. I knew how bad it was for them that the Japanese was gone. Even when they were just children - because she’d been gone for that long- they were incredibly close and Eren and Armin had risked quite a lot to go see her in the Jap Town. No one ever really took notice of it until Pearl Harbor. Their earlier satisfaction had turned into a minefield.  

I guessed Eren chose this university- and was really giving all he got for it, contrary to me- because he wanted to figure out the truth about what had happened with the Japanese-Americans. Everyone knew it hadn’t gone all sweet and nice, but no one was very sure if everyone was still living. Still some people had gotten their letters returned and even Eren had gotten some. Not anymore though, as no one knew where they were now and therefore couldn’t send anything.

“Jean, let’s go get some girls tonight!” Eren said. He said this quite often and never had he actually stuck to a single proposal. He wasn’t going to marry any time soon, and as he only had a father, ain’t no one was going to stop him. What was he going to do if his wife didn’t want him looking into what happened with the Japs? Would he just give up? Stuff like that was the reason. Or maybe the fact he was truly annoying.

“I ought to be somewhere, Eren.”

“Ya aint never bein’ anywhere Jean; you just a fruit.”

I sighed “Not true, in fact, I have somewhere to be right now.”

The streets. Lost in my own mind and stuck in thoughts about weird colors and soft voices. Lost in Whiskey and laughs. Ileft lost in that, I came stuck in that.  “Good evening Mr Wilson.”  I sat down.

“Welcome Mr. Kirschtein, I ought to tell ya that the boy ain’t here today.” The boy was Marco, no one had to tell me that one. Mr. Wilson never spoke his nephew's name casually though. “Ain’t ever useful in the weekends,”  he mumbled softly right after.

“Why did the man leave?”

Mr. Wilson looked up at my sudden question. “What man, son?”

“Marco’s father, why did he leave? I’ve asked ‘bout it and there are some - hated-  mixed families. Also my best friend’s lovin’ some Jap and I think he’s planin’ on runnin’ away and never comin’ back.”  

Mr. Wilson smiled, “It ain’t that simple, Mr Kirschtein.” That silenced me.  I was a little bit pissed off and on top of that I hadn’t even thought twice before coming here to see Marco. That indeed had been the reason I now came. Mr. Wilson saw it, I knew it and God might aswell have shown the whole world.  “Please don’t leave him any presents anymore, the child may be incriminated for stealin’ it.”

“Who says I gave it to him?”

“I might not be book smart like ya white people but I sure got two eyes, sir.”

“Well then, since you too realized this, I might as well be the first to not treat him like trash.”

Mr. Wilson sighed, “You’re a scary person, son, what is it you after?”

“Tryin’ to make lots of people angry because I don’t follow the hidden rules, Mr. Wilson,”  I replied honestly; it earned me a laugh and then a proud smile. Mr. Wilson liked me in some way; I didn’t know what kind of way. He was bad at showing affection to anyone- I had noticed this when his wife came by between her work- and he treated my like he would only do with white people; I was younger than all the blacks coming by and yet he always called me ‘sir’ or ‘mister’.  

“Says the Justice university Major;  we’all might have a future after all.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a second, sir.”

For a while. It made me a little nervous but I kept my cocky smirk on my face; Mr. Wilson would definitely notice the change if I didn’t. “Then son,”  I jumped when he spoke after a while, “I ought to show you the storage then.”

I pulled up my eyebrow, having no clue what he was talking about, yet I followed him when he stood up and walked to the back. “Sir?”

“Hush.” Never had he spoken to me with one word.

When the door opened he waved me inside and then turned to go back. I didn’t speak up, still a little bit taken back by his previous seriousness.

And so I was alone in the small storage room. I walked inside a little farther. That was the moment I realized why I was brought there. Why I would care for the little room? I now understood. “What do you need, Un-”  Marco stopped mid sentence when he saw me - and not his uncle- had come inside of the room. He had bags under his eyes and the book I had given him in front of him as well as a paper that was way too full, the backs of storage notes.    

“You ought to get a new paper for that.”

“This is just fine.”

“No it’s not,” I sat down on the chair next to his, a unsteady wooden one. “You ain’t able to afford one?”

He silently nodded.

“So why’re you reading like that? Don’t know all the words?”

“Some aren’t in the b-”

“Bible? F’course not. I dare to bet you haven’t even heard a curse word in your whole life.”

He chuckled, “Black people get angry too, Mr. Kirschtein.”  

“But not you.”    
“I ain’t got no right to become angry, sir.”

I glanced over to his paper, lots of simple words were on it. “You’ve got a dictionary then?”

“I don’t, sir.”  

“Quit the sir, Marco.” He looked down shyly, either about the fact I hushed him or about the fact I casually used his name once again. “So how’re you going to figure out what these words mean?” I was very honestly curious because he indeed had translated one to words he already knew. However, some were translated incorrectly.  

“Sometimes I figure them out by readin’ the rest, sometimes I ask my mother.”

“She’s a good reader?”

He swallowed. “Not really.”

I ignored his shame and words and looked over at his paper again. Then, without even thinking about, it I took a notebook out of my bag and started writing down definitions to the words he didn’t understand; the right meaning behind them.

“Erm, Mr Kirschei-”

“Jean,” I interrupted him.

“Ah, yes, well, you don’t have -”

“If ya’ll don’t learn how to read I’m going to be stuck defending ya’ll forever.”

“You’re planning on defending black people?” His face lit up brightly. It made me feel quite dim because, no, I wasn’t planning on defending black people. It would ruin my whole career. I would lose the majority of my lawsuits and so I would go broke. I’d never be able to fall back on the privileged to give me money; “you ain’t gonna let a niger lover define your faith”.

I kept quiet and kept on writing, not really wanting to disappoint Marco and mainly not wanting to embarrass myself. My good will was really nothing.

“I’ll give you this notebook.”

“No! sir I-”

“Damnit I told you to call me Jean.”

Marco fell into silence, biting his lip. “I can’t take it.”

“Because of that, ‘they’ ll think you stole it’ shit.”

“It’ll feel like I have stolen it!”

“Oh my God, you are -”

“Please don’t talk that away.”

“‘bout God?”  

Marco nodded, while I grunted “Like he hooked you up with a good life.”

“He’s my hope to get something better one day, so yes, yes I believe he will.”

“Ain’t you able to believe he send me here then?”

Marco awkwardly shifted in his chair instead of answering; maybe he too knew how full of holes his beliefs were. No one really did, I too knew this. Only I saw the holes that were slowly becoming bigger. “Thank you then.. erm, for the book and notebook.”

I sat down next to him. “Want to learn anything then?”

“Well.. I’ve always loved history stories.”

I smiled brightly; a feeling that truly came from inside. It scared me a little. That this bastard child was so innocent and that he- unlike me- wanted to learn so badly. I sat down beside him and started telling him some basics. Writing down notes for him. He protested me using my paper on him, but soon after he just got lost in my words and in his own thoughts. I told him about Romans. He loved the stories about them and so did I. He smiled and spoke when he felt the need to. For once I felt like someone was truly interested in me, though I, most likely, was more interested in him. “What about black folks at that time?”  He had asked somewhere along the road. I had answered with the fact it wasn’t my place, nor in my knowledge, to tell him about such a thing. I told him we never learned about black history, maybe because they lived in small communities and from nature, like they did before the Greeks and Romans.  Neither one of us knew though.

I talked for hours, and he listened respectfully that whole time. Then when the night time hit- and I still hadn’t come out of the storage room to spend my day like I usually would-  Marco got up, signed for me to do the same, and then walked into the kitchen. There was a dark man sitting on some table with an old newspaper, seeming far from bothered by the most stern smelling spices whose aroma hung in the room. “Ain’t no reason for you to be here, whites ain’t got no stomach.”

Marco smiled apologetically at me, which I didn’t think he had a reason for. “I’m just going to fix Mr Kirschtein something.” This too was news to me, but I sure as hell was happy about it. My stomach was growling and it seemed as if he was really trying to kill me.  

When he looked up and saw me, he stood up and took off his hat. “Good evenin’ Mr. Kirschtein, what brings you here?”

“Marco did, sir.”  

He left it at that as Marco started making the one thing I always took: a bacon sandwich. “S’t fine or do you fancy somethin’ else?”

“No It’s just fine.”  

For a while we stood there; the man decided to keep his mouth shut about the weird combination we were and sat quietly pretending not to see. Marco did the only thing he was able to do for me: cook, smile, share his common knowledge of the black race.  “- but my aunt, who I never saw in my whole life,  didn’t move back like Mum and I did. You ought to know that we weren’t never accepted really. Uncle helps out a lot. Without’em I bet we would’ve frozen to death. Though I feel guilty towards black people; we ain’t really accepted at church, though we are allowed to come. My mother tries every damn time but eventually I’m gonna have to admit that we ain’t never been part of the group. She’s a traitor and I’m a sin, ain’t no other way too call it, they say. I checked though; sleepin’ with a man of the other color ain’t no sin, I’ll tell you that.”

“So you’ll go to heaven,”  I stated. He grinned and nodded, somehow seeming ashamed of his long story; I loved hearing them so he shouldn’t.

“You bet, God is color blind.”

I smiled at the boy while he handed me a plate. The boy’s use of words was wonderful. The way he saw things was unique. I guess that when it comes to people who like both cultures you have two kinds of people; the asshole ones like me with a bigger amount of white, and the unique, nice ones like him with more of the negro side. “So Marco, where do you live?”

We walked back to the storage room, a smile on his face while talking. He didn’t seem bothered by all the things that seemed terribly awful to me. And usually I was the one not bothered by the terribly awful; even at war time I had thought about my own sake only.  “My mum and I live in one room up in the side of Harlem. Mr. Wilson and his wife and children live in the rest of the house”

“They ought to give you more than one room though; hell, I have three.”

“Their’ children ain’t have no room for themselves either, it’s quite fair I’d say. My mum’s still lookin’ for a job.. We are lucky.”

For such a man to think in such ways.

His muscles could be seen through his too small shirt; his use of words was almost correct and rather amazing for a negro. Surprisingly he could cook amazingly. He thought him all that himself, while I was still whining about these people shoving their ignorance up my ass. Which indeed was kind of unsettling. Also, itmight have been the reason I even loved talking to the half blood boy so much.  

“No, you’re not Marco. I’m lucky, you are just strong.”

“But-”  

Jean sighed. “University is boring and shoves their Christian believes so far down my throat I feel like throwing up.  My father is too rich, made me stuck up. My friends are all white and highly educated, they bore me. I rip pastel dresses off girls as if I’m ripping open a new sack of coffeebeans. I talk to negroes because of my need to rebel. I studied a halfblood, because you learn new things my seeing them.”

Marco fell into silence at my unnecessarily- believe me I regretted it almost right after- long speech.  He swallowed one or two times and bit his lip.  “That’s just the way it works, Jean,”  he whispered eventually too which I sighed and nodded.  

“Maybe it is, Marco, maybe it is.”  

For a while we sat there. I focussed on the way Marco smelled, like cinnamon and muff sweat. It was completely different from our milky sweat and that’s exactly why I thought it was so lovely. Because it was hard to explain-as it took me quite a while to form the simple words I now did- and because I hadn’t smelled it from so up close.

The scent made me think of thingss boys like me shouldn’t think of. Which are ways he’d sweat even more. In this view his shirt was long gone and he ran, jumped, worked, and fucked from behind. He ran his hands over himself and smiled sweetly and innocently. He sweated and I smelled. He worked, and I touched, licked, moaned.

“So, you think I’m interesting then?” he awkwardly mumbled.

I chuckled “I think nobody doesn’t.”

“Well, I guess.”

“Do you mind?”

He smiled evilly, something I hadn’t seen before and invited more fantasies.  “Will you care if I do?”

“I see you figured me out, don’t know if that makes you more interesting.”

“I know nothing compared to you.”

“Ain’t that what I’m teaching you for, you damn crumb.”

Marco laughed comfortably, something that made me feel as if we would be able to forget about who we were. I loved it. I wasn’t just interested anymore; I had become a man with a mission, not just some rich kid. “Of course, Sir Kirschtein, thank you very much sir, I owe you sir.”  

“Won’t you shut it, your half big mouth,”  I joked.

“Which side is the big one then?”

I smirked, “The side I’m - and not your mother- is teaching, of course.”

  
  
  


###  ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	3. From belletrist to flit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of getting close and some dancing~

July 1954

 

"and then Mrs Wilson, here you have the stove, but you need to watch yourself because the thing needs to go for a repairin'. I keep tellin' my husband that but he doesn't listen, he never listens, but you know how that goes, man always think we ain't got stuff to do-"  It took me no time at all to get my mother to hire Marco's mother as our new cook, as she is way too nice and believes anything anybody says, and I play kind of dirty in whatever I play.  Like I said, I am spoiled into this time of peace to grow up to be an objective damn being. Which in this case refers to spoiling a freckled man at other people's stake; getting the cook fired, lying to my mother about everything and anything and then even trying to get her to hire 'Mrs wilson's son' for gardening.

When I told Mr Wilson he told me that 'White man like me were gonna' get all they asses killed to death.' I didn't brush it off as disrespectful as Mr wilson wasn't a naturally disrespectful man. He dealt with it all and stayed a gentleman. I saw Marco in him most. He'd been an attractive man too, if he were younger.  

 

As July had hit it was even warmer in the storage room. I once again quote Mr wilson's words to explain this one: 'If you'd pay all the sandwiches Marco's makin' you we might be able to pay one, instead I save my own money to pay fine your ass if gonna cost us'  to which I replied with something about my study. Kindly lying my way out of a situation because they had no idea what university, or even school, was like.

I went to see them a few times a week, differs between two or five times. Marco kept up his thankful ranting but as that was the only annoying thing he did I kept on buying my sandwiches. And yes I did buy them, mainly to prove Mr Wilson wrong but also a little because it made Marco feel guilty and I liked that on him.

Being around Marco in secret was true delight. He answered all of my question honestly and while he told his stories I watched the new freckles he got by helping out on the land - which he did whenever he got the chance, earning no more than a nickel or two for the Wilson household and old bread in the morning.  

One time I asked him why he didn't call himself Wilson. He answered;  "now I can just say my Father dead"

"But you're mother's still a Wilson.. Shouldn't you just pretend you're Mr wilson's son?"

He didn't know why they hadn't done that. It would've made his life a whole lot easier, he admitted. "s' too late now"  he had said, which was completely true. Still I pushed it.

"Ya'll didn't even think this over"

"and you wouldn't have to, white man can just run off without gettin' killed"

A silence. I thought for a second "but I ain't runnin' off. I got into your business and I'm helpin' your ass"  Marco looked down, still ashamed every time he talked back to me "I never help someone's ass, you hear me"

Marco looked into my eyes, something he rarely did,  and I swear in that moment I saw that he wanted to do and say a lot more. He wouldn't; I knew that too. Marco was the kind of boy that would get charged for everything and nothing; stealing, raping, homosexuality and so on,  yet he would never do any of them. He wouldn't just touch a white. He wouldn't just talk back to an elder or higher. He'd be able to though. I had once seen Marco's bare arm; he had freckles all over and muscles twice the size of my whole arm. The whole thing made my heart sink and wish I could just run off with him. See the rest of his body bare. Dark and poor skin, sweat and smiles.

"Thank you" he whispered instead, just like predicted.

 

"Marco! The springer boy and his girl are here!" Mr Wilson yelled.

Marco shot up quickly. Panicking a little too.  "Will you please stay here? Just until they leave?" he whispered hesitantly.

I did stay there . I stayed in that chair for an an hour or two. Bored out of my mind and thinking about the fact that maybe, if you break down all the bricks of being spoiled, you just end up in a storage room waiting for some half blood black kid to come back and accidentally call you 'sir' while you fantasize about him on his knees. Naked. Moaning.  That's just the way. When you have nothing left.. that seems like the most messed up situation you can get in.  Unmarried, homosexual.. African.

I let my head fall onto the small table and all the books laying on it. Probably throwing some pencils on the floor. I heard Marco laugh awkwardly. Marco's voice is low and husky. Even the kindest words become impressing and manly with such a voice. Like his sweetest smile became manly with such a body.  

I think I fell half asleep. Not very sure when but I do know when Marco came in I grumpily looked up at him "Took you ass long enough"

"good friends, I couldn't just brush them off"

"So you do have friends?" harsh but still a logical question.

He smiled brightly "Yeah, they taught me some of the cooking I do. Connie's girlfriend's ain't got no fat but she cooks and eats everything she can find. She earns good money, better than he do actually, all the white woman want to impress they friends with her cookin',  it's great"

"My mum's doin' that with Mrs Wilson's cookin' now"  Marco smiled proudly. Thankfully too. Which once again reminded me my goal was easy to hit;  get Marco so much more he'd get awkward about it.  "so you hidin' me from good friends?"

"For now.. I want to thank you though. If you don't mind.. would you eat dinner with the family some time?"

"Your mum's our cook Marco, how am I goin' to do that?"  

"The whole family, the Wilson's. Ain't nobody's gotta know" He looked so hopeless. So cute and happy. So painfully pushed away from all that was and will be me.

I licked my own lip "You're playin' a dangerous game, Marco Bodt"

 

 

 

So that's a quick, or actually a pretty extensive, explanation of how I ended up in front of a surprisingly small house in East Harlem. It was late, Marco said that they'd wait for his mother to come back before eating this day. Which made me feel incredibly guilty about having black people to work for me. This was a first time.

"Jean!" I heard Marco's vibric voice galm through the hallway as he greeted me. In the back I heard Mr Wilson's wife scold him and Mr wilson with something that sounded like 'that boy ain't got no respect, you need to tell'im'

Within seconds I was pulled inside, Mr's Wilson's wife still whining about risks and whites and such. To be honest, she was probably the one who forgot how to be respectful; but she was - unlike the way it was around my folks place- the boss and nobody was going to tell her differently.  "Mother's already home, she been singing Billy Holiday songs all evenin' s'been awhile since I've seen her like that.  Aunt's been tellin' her off but mum sayin' stuff like 'I'm earnin' money so I'm earnin' my voice.' Uncle Wilson ain't complainin', says she used to do it like that all the time when they were little, they shared they rooms and the sisters was always whinin' bout it"  Marco told happily while he took my jacket and hung it onto the hat rack together with all the thin and old jackets.

"My mum's all the same, wouldn't surprise me if I caught them doing a duet sometime"  Marco laughed at how silly it all was. Because it truly was. Me coming over to a black household, his mum in mine.

 

"Mr kirschtein please take a seat," and I did. Marco sitting down next to me, warning me about his nieces and telling me about how long his aunt had spend cooking the meal she had made. "Ya'll get yo asses down here!"    
From out of everywhere children came running. One young lady, about fifteen, I guessed, then there were three boys, one boy who seemed around his 13th, twin boys that looked like they were 9 or so, and then there was one more girl, younger than the rest, she seemed to be six years old. She smiled happily when she saw me, as she was probably the only one who didn't know the definition of racism.  She laughed and touched my hair.  "How'd you get so light, sir?"

"My mum drunk lots of milk when I was in the belly"

"That ain't true is it?"  

I chuckled and nodded still.  "I ain't a liar, miss"

Soon her mother took her in her arms and scolded her on being disrespectful.  "But he say he white cuz' of milk, why ain't you never drink so much milk?" the girl argued.

"He's bein' silly, we black because our grandfathers were in the sun too much" Her eldest brother noted.

The girl glared over at me, then at Marco "Marco needs sun, I say, to cover up those crazy dots"

Marco laughed as his tired aunt decided to ignore them and move over to serve me some mashed potatoes. I thanked her more than I had ever thanked my own mum for food; mainly because my mother didn't cook herself. This did make me feel rather guilty about never thanking Marco's mother, then again I did pay her.

"Take all you want sweetheart" I knew I couldn't. With 6 children to feed and a low pay no one could take all they wanted and he wasn't about to. An asshole isn't always fond of people dying of hunger. That's just pure evil, I'm just a little bit out of line most of the time.

"Marco been talkin' bout you forever, he sayin' you teachin' him all I couldn't" Mrs's wilson, with which, I'm referring to Marco's mum, said with a bright smile on her face.

"Well you thought him great things before me, mam'"

"Oeeh," something I figured out lately; black women shout livingly when complimented "A white university man complimentin' me? Such a gent"

"Yeah cuz the last time a man did that ended well!" Mr wilson's wife bit.  

"Please, Celia, ain't no use spoilin' the mood now"   

Though no Mrs Wilson spoke up like that again. The childen laughing and asking me all kinds of questions. Lots about school. About my girlfriend too.  The evening was, interesting. And interesting was something I had thought disappeared from the planet we utterly dramatized. It was small, true and honest. It wasn't like.. the way Eren and I somehimes dramatically hated on people, or the way my mother whined about me, my father or her own cooking, it wasn't even like all we heard about war. It was realer, and more impressive.

All the Wilson's had something cocky and sweet; except from marco, all the cockiness he could have had had gone to Mr Wilson's other children.  Mr Wilson's children were nothing like him. They were straight forward and laughed loudly. They said things like "So you have a car of your own? Can I drive it some time!?" and they cheered and laughed and told each other off. Marco loved it. I watched his soft smile and I felt his silence. Like I said before, Marco amazed me and I wanted him in a lot of ways I shouldn't want him. It scared me because it was turning into something quite emotional and deep; I had never had a dinner with the family of someone I wanted inside of me, if I may say it like that.  

 

When dinner was over we weren't left alone, such things rarely happened, but no one watched us. Mr Wilson started doing finances, he was quite worried he left his place alone to the workers in the first place. His wife was cleaning and mumbling all kinds of things; something she did a lot. Marco's mother though. Marco's mother turned on the radio and sang while helping out. No one watched us. And eventually the small livingroom was empty, the radio playing loud enough for them to hear in the kitchen.  "Billy holiday"  Marco mumbled.

"I know"

"One day I'm going to get her a record player and the record.. she sold it to feed me"  

"Oh"  He smiled awkwardly and bit his lip. His freckled moving as his lips did. His laughing wrinkled small and beautiful.

He cleared his throat "Hey Jean, do you.. could I learn you somethin', Cuz' you taught me?"

"What'you plannin'?"  

"well I- erm- white people can't dance right? So I thought that maybe-"  I laughed. Maybe too loud as I really didn't want to offend him this time, but I couldn't help it.   He blushed fiercely "Sorry did I- is that just a black sayin', I didn't know, I-"

"Marco, it's fine, please teach me"  You could still hear the laugh in my voice but at least I managed to keep a bit of pride I had built up by finally being nice to one person.  

My hand was taken, Marco seemed to focus on the marching rhythm and the violins The low black voices everyone loved. Then he smiled a little bit.  "Do you feel it?"

"I guess, yeah, your air makes me"

"Good, that's half the work"

Marco stepped to the side, I followed him without thinking about it. He sang softly, like his mother did, like Billy Holiday did 'I'm a fool to want you-'.  This was the first time that I felt the way lovers felt. It was foolish because we weren't. And I wasn't about to take a black male into my life just to ruin both of ours. But it felt like that and it felt right.. not to mention it was the first time I seemed to have something that seemed like rhythm in my body. He blew it into my body when singing.  

"C'mon you lead, you ain't never gonna  get a girl following me around"  

"I can't"

"Yes you can, dancing is just settin'the soul free"

"I'd say that's why white man can't do it"

Marco sadly smile at me and let go of me "But you're not like that are you? Do white man get into black business?"

I put my hand on his hip. Shivers going through me, because I had never really touched him before, and it was rather rare that I didn't get what I want right away.

I took a step and Marco smiled supportingly. Both of us saw how weird it was yet neither one of us dared to make a comment about it. Maybe Marco did see how much of a fruit I really am. How much I wanted him.    
"Lift your arm a little bit" he whispered, almost making think he didn't know how much of a darn sheik he was. "Yes, that's very good"  well maybe I could just ask him to put his second hoofer inside of me, the way he was talking now.  

"You liar"  I has hummed beside him.  

"I don't lie Jean, I just don't think bad things"

I snorted ugly "Really now?  Then what do you think of me?"

"I think you're amazing, and smart"

"Not arrogant and uselessly privileged?"

He swallowed and moved over to a leading position again. A slow song started playing. Gospel or something of that kind.  "I do, but I don't think that's a bad thing"

"And what.."  I thought. He annoyed me, I wanted to be right and I wanted to shock everyone. I just. I just really didn't want to lose Marco. That was stupid though. Getting attached to someone like that was stupid, dumb and seriously foolish.  "What if I told you I'm a flit"

"A what?"

"C'mon Marco, you know what it means,  A nellie, light in the loafers, Auntie Kookoo, quee-"

"Jean stop I get it"  He hushed while pulling back. "Just don't- just keep still 'bout it alright? They next door"

"So, what do you think of it"

"I-" he thought for a bit "well let's just say.. god's really put up quite the test for us, ain't that right?"

" 'bout right, I reckon"  I don't know if it pissed me off that he was taking it so easy or that it calmed my heart.  

Maybe it was both of'em.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, because it isn't really my best chapter ;p


	4. Billie to anti miscegenation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being together is dangerous and yeahh..

I don't like the heat. Never have. Even though nobody's ever going to complain about it, I see this as one of my weaknesses.  I look unhealthy, rather weak, quite spoiled.

Every time I see Marco, he got darker. It makes me think about the fact that maybe, if he had been spoiled like me, he would look more like a white person. Though he's already looking quite white, I can't help but think what he had looked like if the law had no rule against a back marrying a white. God, Mrs Wilson would have all Billy Holliday albums. She'd do nothing but sing and dance. Maybe Marco would be able to write properly, who knows, grow up to be a poet of something cheesy like that. Though art seems to be lot more color blind than all the other jobs, if we are ignoring food. Because food isn't about sexism or racism, it's about surviving. A lot of people don't see that. Then again, if I were to be left by myself without money, I sure wouldn't be able to survive. I'd call Marco to cook for me, or have sex with some girl to cook for me.

Alright, food may be about racism and sexism too. I am the walking prove of such a thing.

See I don't agree with the law or social captiveness. Yet I am the law and social captiveness.

It worries me that one day Marco will stand up for his darn rights and that I'll be the first one to get protests shoved up my arse.

"Anything else?"  the man behind the counter said as I handed him the Billie Holiday record. It was honestly a mystery how people failed to buy such a thing. A record is no more that four dollars or something.  Even me being here myself, my new darn New York Chrysler parked in front of the door, was quite something. There were some fort's here but no expensive cars.

""s fine like this" I replied, handing him 4, 85 dollars and then walking outside. Street filled with people having their dinner. Music playing in all restaurants,  at some places they owned a television, their places were full of people, all around the one small television and laughing at the same time. Black folks don't often own televisions, even watching it like this costs 'em, because the owner sure was charging.  

I got in my car and drove to the calmer part, a cigarette hanging between my lips and something that sounded like Miles Davis playing on the radio.I still wondered how my kind could always be listening to black people but never hearing black people. He heard black people alright. He heard black people about small things; like how to make food, about their schooling or lack off, about love and children. Marco had never once said a word about his social harassment or the law. He avoided the question like he avoided being alone with a white woman.

"Good evenin' Kirschtein, Marco's out back. Boy's gettin' the ground fixed so our plant's will grow before we run outa business"

"I ought you won't Mr Wilson, this is everyone's favorite place"

"Just keep on lyin' like that and god's gonna have our ass"

"He'll go after mine for lying"

He chuckled "Ain't never gone that way, son, he sees us quicker or somethin' "

I believed him. It was that way. In all the lawsuits I had seen I had never seen a black man win. In all the the fights, all through history, I had seen the black man getting punished. God would punish them. That was the way.

I was actually wishing that they'd rub some of the damn color on me. So I'd get a bit of their punishment.

I wouldn't be able to carry it all, but to carry some of Marco's pain did seem worth it.

"Jean! Didn't know you'd be here today, I would've washed the mud of my hands"

"You got a sunburn" I said, instead of replying to his darn politeness. He knew I was coming, I came almost every day these days, because Marco was always working and I finished university way before him. These days I only missed him on sunday's because we both went to church and I knew that rubbing my sins on him that day would just be cruel.

"It's fine" he said, mud on his face and a big grin. The whole thing just made me want to sin, it was his fault, not even mine.

"I got you something"

"Not again, I told you-"

I rolled my eyes and grunted "oh, shut up"  he did, while washing the mud of his hands. Darkness left only to show more of it. His hands seemed to glow even if I knew how rough they were. The last time he touched me, when we had danced, I had felt the roughness of his hands. His fingers were a centimeter or even two longer than mine, and all the random work he did had made his hands strong. I dared to put money on the fact he could crush a bee with bare hands without feeling it.

As we walked in there were a few women staring at us. They had thick make up on and real Marlyn proportions. I brushed them off as whores or something of that kind. Sounds harsh. But a white woman that goes to laugh that loudly in negro streets isn't trying to hide it either.

"We ought to be more carefull" Marco mumbled, as he followed my eyes.

"I'm not fond of folks tellin' me what to do"

"Until you hangin' "  

When the girls lost their focus, we sneaked into the storage room. It was hard to see because our eyes had gotten used to the light outside. When they worked again I smiled at Marco. He was rubbing a wet towel on his face, trying to get the mud off.  "Let me" I whispered, while taking the towel out of my hands. He stood still and let me. Marco rarely got mad at such things. It made him nervous still. Sometimes I'd put my hand on his bare skin just to see his reaction. It was always the same, polite, brush off "have you got a wound?" I mumbled as I saw a cut and the extra blackness of his face.

"Ain't nothing much"

"Why?"

He automatically touched the wound "Looked at a man. Think he carried a torch for my mum untill she did what she did and no one wanted her anymore"

"So he hits you?"

"Surprised?"

Kind of. I was really still learning about all Marco went through. Of course I could have seen some punching, spitting and house burning coming. Maybe that was the reason they lived so far from the center; less people to hate Marco. "Are you scared?"

"No" There was a short silence. I Looked into Marco's eyes and rubbed the towel on his last dirty spot "I heard they threw acid on black people.. Is that true? Does the news say anything 'bout it?"

"The news doesn't have attention for anything real, busy with war outside of America, not the one in it." Marco looked down "I do believe it's true"

Marco sat down, my mind was on my bag, in which I had the record. But I didn't really dare to push the prove of my luxuries in Marco's face. It was obvious he was afraid. He had twice the chance of getting beat up  because of racist motives. Maybe even more, as there were a lot of people who didn't mind the other race but still had this 'we ought to not connect' kind of attitude. If I had been a racist person- as which most would pass me off- I probably would go for Marco's head first. Because he was the prove that we could love and live without the thing that kept them going. It intimidated them. Because he was sweet, good looking. He turned out so darn well and they hated that fact.

That was one of the reasons I wanted to be around Marco. The thrill of being around the strongest weapon against social oppression. Trying to give him some extra bullets. The things he lacked, the things that people could point out, like illiteracy or things like that.

I once again rose my hand and put it on the cheek he had been hurt. Marco pushed my hand away softly "Don't. I'm really sinful enough as it is"  This was the first time Marco didn't apologize. He was just afraid I'd kill him, that I'd be his dead.

"You think that'll stop me?"

We sat in silence for a while.  

Marco looking at his hands and playing with his own fingers. It made me nervous and I hated it. It was my first time going for someone for such a long time and maybe.. just maybe, his safety would stop me.  "Why not let me make the best of it?"

"There are two sorts of dangerous relationships, I ain't even got to explain you which ones"

"No girl's gonna want you"

Marco nodded. "That's fine, Ain't bringing no one down with me"

"What about me?"

"Stop"

"I swear, I'm falling and you know it. Want me to stop? Stop letting me come here."

"Yes sir"

I stood up "Stop."  He smiled, but painfully. He had some fight back. Some of that thick black fight back. He did it by treating me like I was worth much more than him; by treating me like the white person I am.

It scared me how well he knew me.

I lit a cigarette and glared at Marco while he pretended to ignore me. I wanted to touch his face again. He was bleeding slightly; this was probably my fault for touching it. If I'm being completely honest I'll have to say that I hated to see him hurt. And if I put all the consequences in a row we- no- he was as good as dead already.

"Want me gone? Alright, I'm gone"

"Jean-"

I walked out. Not greeting Mr Wilson and heading to my car. I road to university and sat there, in the library. Looking through all law's. Making a list of all the things that could happen if Marco chose the most messed up thing. Me.

Usually I rarely did my homework about law. Now I was studying law for hours trying to get some facts about the horrid fate of minorities in great America.  Oh great America, where would people be without your endless lines of discrimination and screams about freedom.

I searched for countries in which black people were treated better. Or even those in which homosexuality was accepted, if there were any. It was just my money that kept people out of my business, and the fact people stayed out of my business that kept them from seeing how juicy of a fruit I was.  

Until the library closed I was in there. Searching up stories, fact and laws.I looked at Anti-miscegenation as well as black culture and history more than once and found close to nothing; as if centuries lived by black people had been burned away.  I cursed and watched as people studied me from afar. The rich white person is looking up black history; call the cops! Tell your wives and husbands! Pray that god will forgive him(but not really)! What shall we do? Where is Mr kirschtein to keep his boy at home, to keep black people and their library apart?

I'm not a mind reader but I have always been pretty good at reading expressions; you know like 5 expressions and you know all of them. When it comes to my culture at least, my people are easier to read. Marco held more faces than all those people together. That's why all the mumbles in the library disappeared. It was the fact that I already knew that the law 'white and black Americans can't share books'  existed; Marco didn't; he had no place or chances to read it.  I knew that. I cheated not only whites, japanese, and blacks, I also cheated my half blood baby.

I heard every bit of poetry in his black, moaning voice. It calmed me and made everything a lot better; this was a new thing for me.

The library eventually had to send me out because it was getting too late; this was also new.

I drove to my parents house the next morning, check up on Miss Wilson, check up on my mum, on my own sanity; stuff like that. My mother was at the Arlert’s home; as our mothers were friends. It was just miss Wilson working her ass of in my kitchen. It made me feel self conscious. A little painful. “Take a break, miss” I mumbled while I took the cup of coffee she had made me.

“Yes sir¨  

“Please don't, my mother isn’t anywhere near”

“Yes” She avoided my eyes while I tried to catch and hold hers.  Awkward she sputtered a few times before being able to say what she wanted to say “Marco told me to give you back a book you had forgotten” She pointed at the table where the book I had given him was lying. Together with a notebook.

My heart skipped a beat.

To be honest, I wanted to tell miss Wilson everything. Give her the damn book back and write a love letter inside of it. I wanted to go to their place and tell Marco things like ‘it’s fine, this is all yours, I’ll give you the world, you’ll survive, you’re safe’  but that would just be piling up lie after lie.  “oh, thank you miss”

Her eyes went from side to side. She awkwardly stood up and started cleaning things that were already clean. She didn’t like talking to me at my home. When we had been at the Wilson’s she had sung and laughed with me. Now she called me sir and didn’t dare to look at me.

I walked out of the kitchen to help her. And then, just because I was also angry at Marco, I took the record player, placed it near the kitchen, put my newly bought Billie Holiday record on it and let it play loud enough for Miss Wilson to hear.

She didn’t say a word about it and I was too far to see her smile; I knew she was smiling though. She would have never dared to put it there herself and if she had she would have to listen to either instrumental classical music or my mother’s favorite artist; edith piaf. My mother was always going on and on about seeing her show when in France but I knew to that Marco’s couldn’t care less.  

Satisfied with my actions, I walked on to the living room. I opened the book Marco had returned and as I had expected; there was a note inside of it. Marco’s neat big handwriting, a black pencil he had also gotten from me.  ‘Please inform me of the law before making me break it’

I swallowed heavily. The man had a point. One that had bothered me and one I didn’t want him to think about. Which also meant that someone told him; and so that he had told someone. About me, about the books, maybe even about the fight and my homosexuality.

I took some paper and wrote ‘I have informed you about the others, help me with those?’

It was what I wanted him to do. Go against the whole world. Then again I wanted him alive. That’s where it got a little bit complicated, or more like.. impossible.

I read it over one more time, to make sure that no one who looked inside could possibly think we’d be doing anything that wasn’t allowed. I had not mentioned the ‘law breaking’ I had not used the words ‘fruit, homosexual, relationship, colored, screw Anti-miscegenation’ or any among those lines. CHeck. Double check.

It was the perfect way to say it.

Like I wanted him to help me with some heavy carrying or any other work white men didn’t do on their own. Or didn’t do at all.

“Miss?”  she looked up at me and nodded; she looked happy “Could you please give this to Marco?”

“Of course, sir”  she took the paper and put it in her afron. I didn’t call her out on the fact she called me sir. She had been around for too long. She had already had a white male she didn’t call sir, she wasn’t going to again.  With Marco it didn’t see as impossible.

As I walked away from Miss Wilson and her half empty eyes I thought about the fact that maybe I would have Marco looking like that too. Only then completely empty. Because Miss Wilson was only half empty because she still had half of the man she loved;  Marco himself.

If I - one day - would manage to make love to Marco, then how would I make sure he wouldn’t be killed? How would I make sure I didn’t have to leave him to marry some daughter of a friend of my mother? How would I make sure he didn’t become empty?

The answer was simple: I couldn’t.

The question the answer made was even more complicated though; since when did I care? When did I start being interested in Marco and started caring about him, because it certainly had happened somewhere. I cared and it was stupid. It was stupid because he was half black. It was stupid because me walking into his church, even if I said all the prayers, would be a sin. Him walking into mine wouldn’t just be a sin, it would be death.

* * *

 

University. People were all mumbling and laughing as they walked out of their classroom. Eren had his arm wrapped around Armin’s shoulder and was screaming and talking like he hadn’t done in a long time; with a smile on his face. I walked up to them “Eren what’s got you like that?”

“Well”  suddenly he became stiller, as if he was afraid of saying the words “I think I have something on where mikasa is”

“You do? and what then? You know you can’t marry her”

“I’m not planning on marrying her. I’m taking Armin with me and we’re going to a big city, no one will even notice we’re living there”

“If she never gets out of the house yeah”   Eren glared at me while I came closer; to intimidate him. It wasn’t that I wanted to stomp his dreams into the ground it was just that I was saying to him, what I wanted to say to myself about Marco. That even in the biggest cities we couldn’t be together. That it’d ruin his life.  

“You don’t know what we went through, we don’t care about such things”  Eren hushed aggressively. I knew that if I didn’t stop, he’d probably try to push his fist right through my head.

I stretched and smirked “Just because I’m not into messed up things.. I’d rather stay out of the mental institutions”

“Oh yeah? You know people say you head into the negro streets every day don’t you? Maybe you go to chinatown to get laid too?”

It was me landing the first blow. Then Armin calming Eren so quickly that he didn’t didn’t even want to punch me back. For once I really wanted to me punched in the face. To see black and blue like Marco all the time. I wanted to feel the pain that comes with loving someone from the other race. I punched Eren but really I wanted to use my hands to rip apart all the anti miscegenation laws.  “Sorry” I mumbled.

“You really going there?”  Eren asked. I nodded with my head low. Lying wouldn’t help me any in this situation.  “You have someone to go for?” Instead of answering I just bit my lip and looked to the side. Swallowed. Glared. But I didn’t deny any of it. Eren smiled softly, something I had never seen on him “Must be tough”

That was it.

There was nothing more. The world didn’t end. It was just someone knowing. Two soft glances before I heard my ‘friends’ walk off.  Thinking of plans to get into a big city with their lady. Just like me, though for me it wasn’t just one law I was going against. I’d not only lose my respect, no, I’d lose a lot more.

I didn’t want to lose Marco either, I only realized then.

Priorities are complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! I'm sorry this isn't what I wanted it to be but alrighty,,  
> Urm, the next chapter will have more of them together and more happy moments.  
> Also Ymir and Christa are coming up! I am going to write a 50 's au for them too, I'll put the link here once I have.  
> I'm probably going to do a Marco p.o.v too, any thoughts?  
> xx thankyou


	5. From an helpful kid to an useless help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets Marco to talk to him and he goes to meet the fruitiest help 
> 
> (ymir and historia in this chap!)

I parked my car a few streets away from both the Wilson’s house and their children’s elementary school. I knew I was playing dirty but Marco was playing with lust and that could certainly be seen as something worse.

My hands were shivering from the warmth, the sky above me head seemed dry and it looked as if waves were going through the sky, as if the road was wet. It turned out to be dry, hot asphalt.

I guess this is kind of the same as my situation; I thought this would be all fun, meet up with a half blood African and learn some thing,  turns out that it’s painful and to die for. Maybe I could have realized this before the heat was almost laying me out while I was waiting in the negro street for some kid so I could give him my message and some money. I knew Marco didn’t want the money. He’d say it would make his own social oppression bigger while I’d fight him saying ignorance would. He knew I was right, I did too.

On the paper were all the essential facts about both anti Miscegenation laws and laws against homosexuality. He had asked me to inform him about the sins I was dreaming about, I would. I would show him- in all honesty- the terrible state of humanity and it would most certainly not help me with winning him over. I had it bad but for once and I wanted to show just how real I could be. I still had to find out how real that was myself though, as I usually just win with lies. Maybe because usually I only handled to get what I wanted, not for anyone else, not for the road,  and now I was doing something that was surely going to work against me. Showing the love the cost. Incongruous but true.

I stood outside my car, a cigarette in my hand and my eyes only slightly open. I silently wished no one could see my skin color and dirty blond hair. It was the first time I wished to not have to color I had. My first time my skin color made me feel less.

It was when I lit my second cigarette that a young black boy walked by. I studied him carefully because I still had a hard time knowing who was who with these black children. Then again, children always kind of looked alike. He didn’t look at me. This too, made me doubt. He just walked on.  “Hey kid”

He ignored me again, even though I saw him getting more stiff. I sucked in some air and thought, then, without this being my conclusion, I called “don’t you remember me?”

He looked up and nodded “I do, sir”

“Don’t ignore me then”

“Mum told me ‘ain’t go annoy white men’”  I went through me knees. I have to admit that  I was never all too fond of kids but the Wilson kids just had something. Some innocence I rarely saw anymore. Some connection to a man I had given my all without wanting it.  Maybe I was somehow becoming the family man I didn’t want to be, only I gave it another meaning.

“You won’t annoy me, I was at your house remember?”

“Doesn’t matter! Mum said everything annoys white man”

I chuckled “Now that’s not very nice is it?” He shook his head. “So I was wondering, how is the family doing?”  

Saying Marco would be kind of weird. I didn’t know kids all too well but I did know them good enough to know that they came with thousands of way too honest and inconsiderate questions.   “I don’t know”  he shrugged “Dad’s mad a lot and he ain’t eatin’ good, but he say it’s fine. The rest is just annoying”

I nodded and smiled “yeah, family is always annoying”

That seemed to light him up a little bit. Bingo.  “So, how is Marco doing?”

“He ain’t never home to play with me! He all about work, I don’t get it, I ain’t never gonna work when I grow up”  I made some impressed sounds, because I that’s apparently what you are supposed to do when talking to kids “He’s dirty and hurtin’ all the time, auntie tells him to take a bath almost every day! That’s so crazy”

“That is a little crazy yeah”  I took baths every other day though. Just trying to be race appropriate and accepting. It’s not something I consider myself good at.

“Just like your hair” he laughed. I laughed along. Marco said he liked me hair, I didn’t really care. I love their hair, dark like the night yet warm like the day I was living.

He went on talking about school, apparently he had 44 children in his class and his teacher had no way to control this. I thought it was insane they put this many children together- this hadn’t been the case at my old school- but he just says the teacher was ‘annoying’.  Of course I agreed and nodded but I had a hard time handling one kid.

The Wilson kid whined some more about his father’s and Marco’s state and then- even though I didn’t want him to- he moved on to whining about his mother’s nagging.

When I had given him the papers I had brought Marco and told him to ‘not show anyone but Marco’  it was our secret mission and if he was a good secret holder he’s get to choose a present for twenty dollars.  

His eyes had lit up when I said that.. I hadn’t realized it was a lot to him.

* * *

 

 

“Let’s talk”

“Jean please leave, I can’t be seen with you here”

I snorted “They will just think I am your boss or something”

“Yeah or my half brother” 

Now that was a new tone, his voice sounded insanely hateful, as if he was biting me, but at the same time his voice shivered in fear. The thought was new to both of us and hit harder than it should have.  “That’s a disturbing thought”  and that was an understatement.  I had thought about Marco being in all his naked glory more than I had heard Frank on the radio, and believe me, that’s a lot.  

We were both silent for a while. Marco awkwardly looked at me but made no movement to leave what so ever. This would have been a normal reaction for any negro man, because they could get killed or whatever. We both knew better. Marco thought and then chose. Marco was putting consequences next to his feelings and calculating carefully. This was something he was good at because it had been necessary from the moment he was born.  “Please just get into the fucking car Marco, no one will see”

Eventually he did. The boy looked out of place and incredibly awkward. He bit his slightly thick lip and tried not to touch anything.  “The money.. I’ll give it back”

“Oh shut up Marco, that’s the least of my worries”  he swallowed and looked in front of him. As if he was afraid of me. I hated that look. Sure, yeah, I had loved that look on other people but not on Marco. His safe and comfortable look was just so lovely. The one he had rarely shown, the one from when he was learning new things and getting excited about it. The honest and sweet dreams about the future. His face had gotten so tired, it screamed of oppression and I knew I was to blame too.  “The cafe is not making money anymore is it?”

“How- I mean.. we’re fine. We’ll be fine”  his brittle voice lied. He had worked too hard and his words were still lied, isn't that always the way?

“One of your nephews told me that you and Mr Wilson are saving up food, that you work a lot more and look tired and beaten up every day”

“Ain’t your busi-”

“Marco why is it such a problem now? I know you don’t want the money but why do you push me away _now_?”

Marco looked down at the front of his hands. They were writer than the rest, the wrinkles were darker and you could follow them with your eyes. I had seen him do this before and it made me wonder if I'd ever get the chance to hold his hand and follow these wrinkles with my finger. His hands were bigger and stronger than mine.  I wished I could feel them on me “Someone told me ‘bout the law. Ain’t that surprising I'd react like this”

“Oh yeah, like you just figured out that what we are doing is wrong.”

“Didn’t know how bad it was”

I snorted and rolled my eyes “Don’t pretend I’m stupid, I know there’s some other reason you’re avoiding me. Seriously,  you talked to me when we were already different fucking races; you talked to me when you realized I'm the selfish asshole I am  and you talked to me when I told you I was queer. I don’t see what-”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna take the only hope I have left” 

“what?”

He got a little bit awkward, bit his nail nervously right before his brittle voice came through again “ya know.. the heaven thing”

“Oh” I fell into silence, thought about all he had said for a second. He had told me before that he didn’t want to sin because his last hope was going to heaven. Because living every day had been hell to him, but it was god’s test to put him on the best spot. God didn’t see color so he’d get into heaven as long as he lived like a good person. Which included not being a homosexual. It hit me that there was a big chance that was what Marco was talking about. Though he had denied homosexuality was a sin before, he didn’t see any other meaning behind Marco’s voice. Maybe Marco didn't it himself, he couldn't care less about whether I was sinning or not- neither could I- but he didn't want to risk it himself “I don’t give a rats-ass about heaven though”

I looked at Marco, who’s face seemed to be breaking from terror. Having a battle inside of himself, holding himself back.  

I took his face in my hand and stared at his eyes. His eyes told the same thing that his words had. The hidden meaning he really liked to hear behind the fearful words.   ‘I am an homosexual but I’m holding it back’. I could have known, it had always been there in small manners, a certain look, the amazing nervousness he often held when they got close. Still it was a shock that he had admitted it to himself despite already being in the worst situation. 

I leaned it costing Marco breath in sharply. I was going too fast. My hands held his face tightly and my forehead hit him too fast, full of lust.  “Stop. Jean, please respect me as a man and stop”  Really, I wasn’t feeling like it. I am egoistic. I don't just stop when people ask me to. 

His eyes were big. Desperate. Dark, dark brown. Dark hair. Dark eyelashes. A little bit of hope and hidden trust that hit me like truck. He didn't even move to push me away because he believed that I would respect him. It was naïve to say the least.  “Jean please, stop and I’ll talk to you-”  

And I pulled back.

Only God knew what came over me (and He better was watching because else I had stopped for nothing).

I just wanted to see Marco again because somewhere, Marco’s awkwardly light smile and his dark eyes had become more important than the damn information about oppression and a culture I didn't understand. Him, as a person, had become more than his tall and strong body I wanted to have sex with. This scared me. 

I was turning soft and nothing seemed able to stop it. Nothing but this negro man.

Oh if only one heard that.

The world would stop turning.

My mother would keep screaming.

I would finally be free.

Marco would be killed.

“yeah.. alright, just.. accept the books? Reply to me?”

He swallowed and nodded “okay”.

the sentence ‘ I’ll get us both out of here’ was laying on my tongue but I didn’t think about the fact that I wasn’t fighting against society anymore. I was fighting against a religion. Against God at that. There must be some other way to explain this but eventually it only meant I wouldn’t be able to get away from it.

This thought was quite painful.

Marco looked into the street a few times before getting out. Not another word was spoken before he threw the door closed. It was as if the thumb bumped all my insides out of me. My body didn’t know what to do with the new information. Marco found me attractive, great. Marco would either stay pure or he'd hate me, horrid. 

 

Marco actually did turn friendly again. He talked to me as if the fear was completely gone, which it obviously wasn’t.  Marco had gone and pulled the ‘ignore everything happened between us’  card and I couldn’ t even stay mad about it.

Sure, he wasn’t around as much as I wanted him to be. He was working his damn ass off and paying him to stay around me seemed to get both more attractive and more respectless with the second. I was still choosing between whether I cared more about Marco’s respect of his presence. Stuff like that happens, when your hooked on unanswered feelings and enough time to go over them every single minute of the day. Now that the semester had ended books and Marco was kind of all my life was made of. 

Mr Wilson’s smile was fading a little bit, his eyes had become darker than his skin. Sat in my place, blew out smoke and studied them. Everyone that came in. On weekdays it was no one to some negro men. On Friday there were people like me and Marco never came. I started disliking Fridays as much as sundays slowly but surely. Saturdays I didn’t mind as much, because Marco had come with his mother a few times because my mother had requested him getting some things done in the garden. I’d stand outside with a cold drink in the shadow, while pretending to make sure he didn’t do anything wrong. He looked handsome, standing there and sweating heavily.   “You can take your shirt off” I had once mumbled while looking into the sun with my sunglasses on. His voice quivered while saying his damn polite “No thank you sir” and I had laughed, because he knew my intention and how wrong it all was.

At the end of the day, no matter what he had done, I’d slip him about 60 percent of all the money my parents slipped me to do whatever I wanted with. It was a lot of money to him. To anyone really. I couldn’t deny I was one of the most spoiled kids and I was planning on taking him with me. I was planning on keeping a whole cafe standing too.

I made study material for him. When I was in my - rare- one person university dorm room I’d sit until late in the night just writing down worlds and important quotes. All white history but it was better than none. Maybe it was best for him to learn about that side of him, his father’s side was there and it had been ignored since forever. I was planning on pulling it out a little bit.

The colorblind loving was inside of him from both sides.

The fruitiness was inside of him.

I just needed to take my time and pull it out carefully, without hurting him and ripping him open.

“Jean” his voice sounded hushed when talking to me. I had just received his new studies to check and a thousand of meaningful yet old ‘thank you’s.   “I want you to meet someone”

Well this felt like quite the acute step forward. Getting all excited about meeting more people like, well,  like Marco excited me more than it should have. I was acting like a little kid having his first crush. Because it’s all so darn new.

Yeah, that was it. I felt like I had been put into another world because of Marco and it was just way too interesting. Kind of like kids who touch everything and put everything in their mouth when they are two or something. That’s what I felt like.

“Oh.. that’s great, I mean, yeah I’d like that”

He awkwardly took the plate of my table and looked away “It’s far out a town though, like all the way down south”

“You do know I own a proper car unlike you?”

“Uncle said I could take his, it’ll be no good if you -”

I waved his words away, something that - which I had recently learned- actually made him stop talking. Because he was used to listening to people like me. It was kind of sad but it was probably something he wasn’t aware of. I wasn’t planning on pushing him on these habits. “Write down the address on the check”

“Yeah I will”  He was smiling like a kid. It felt lovely. I didn’t even notice I was smiling too. There was no reason to. The conversation had been no more than casual, yet we were both looking at each other as if something big was going on. Probably because of the words that vanished somewhere on the road from the brain to the mouth. Cells of criterion killing them off.

 

 

* * *

The place Marco had mentioned turned out to really be far out of the city. The heat made the long roads dry and dead. I was quite sure the damn house would be quite easy to find in the dead place.

It turned out that it sure as hell was easy to find because of it’s enormous proportion. It was a big mansion (appearing about as big as my own).  I realized that this meant the people Marco wanted me to meet weren’t negro men. It didn’t necessarily disappoint me, it made me more curious than anything else.

Maybe Marco actually did know his father, maybe they spoke in secret, in this big mansion.

The car - that made me fear for Marco’s life because it was so old-  was parked a small walk away from the house, and so I parked mine right next to it. The sight made me want to laugh, the difference was so obvious, so prodigious.   “hey” a low voice came from the other car. Marco was standing beside it with his usual, held back smile.

“This house sure isn’t what I expected”

“I have never been here either” Alright then, that just made everything a lot weirder. He didn’t explain anything though. We walked beside each other in silence. Marco was smiling sweetly, as if he was excited about the whole thing. Maybe he was.

When finally there, we came eye to eye with some black woman sitting on the steps before the house. A jeans on and her legs wide. A cigarette between her lips and frown above her closed eyes.  “uhm.. Ymir?”   Marco awkwardly whispered.

She shot up quickly and her frown turned into excitement of some kind, still she had an impressively angry face. Harsh and impolite, especially for a help. “Marco hey, sorry I was calming myself”

Marco smiled “from?”

“Damn bridge day today!  What do these white tramps with terrible city accents think? I wear a damn skirt and apron, go all ‘yes mam’,  ‘no mam’  to Historia and these woman ain’t never gonna’ shut up about the whole ‘she’s impolite, she ain’t trying to speak english right’  well damn you ain’t trying to be a good person but I ain’t never sayin’ anything about that crap”  Wow alright that was quite the impolite speech for a maid.. how did she even get the job?  Actually, how was she not locked up yet?  
“I understand that’s rough, but you are doing great”

She smiled brightly, her teeth very white and scarily pointy somehow “I swear boy, your father must have been related to jesus, that’s how nice you were”

“actually-”  both of them looked at me. She stared as if she hadn’t noticed me before “Jesus was born in Jerusalem, so that makes him African”   I did it. I said the sentence every white person was denying.

“Who the white kid?”

Marco looked at me in his usual apologetic way  “He’s the one I told you about remember?”

“Ah the rich kid with no sense of laws or personal space”

“Actually I’m a law student”

She laughed while walking to the door, we followed “Ain’t nothing if you don’t practise what you preach”

“Excuse me?”   I had never had negro speak to me like that. Let stand a woman.  

“Like church ya know. Sayin’ God makes no mistakes but when someone ain’t doing what they want ‘em to do they were a mistake. That always the way with white people too. All human’s be equal they say but then they add;   x’cept from every other race.”

I smiled, this woman had an amazing skill for offending every other person in a few sentences. They laid down the truth harder than others though “I agree on that one”

Both Marco and her were silent. They stared at me. She was smiling and Marco seemed confused. Then, when it was time for me to start feeling awkward about their stares, the woman spoke up “Nice one.. Marco”

It took me a while to realize she was talking about me.

 

Ymir was the help of a young woman named Historia. Historia was married to an older, rich man named Reiner. The two of them - the two ladies- spend all their time together because her husband worked for the military and he spend most of his time away from home. She said he survived the world was and was now on to spreading peace again. She didn’t seem to love her man in any way, she didn’t seem to mind him being her husband either. Said he was nice, and that she liked being alone with Ymir. She was glad he was away a lot,  I had never heard a woman say that about their man, but I guess a lot of them thought that way.  

It took me quite a while to realize why Marco had taken me here, but eventually the coin dropped. I realized why Ymir had been the one to tell him about the laws.   
“At first I felt really bad for hiring a help just because I was lonely you know.. I mean, it ‘s not like Ymir actually knows what she is doing”  Ymir held up her shoulders with a smirk on her face. “I knew I didn’t like man. They are rough and harsh.. I just wanted a woman around”

“Don’t you have friends?” I asked, awkwardly, I knew my mother had her giggling and gossiping friends around all the time.

“Oh but they can never know I like woman!”  Then I realized. I realized why Ymir was the way she was and why they were glad her husband was away that much. I realized why Marco wanted me to meet them; they were in the same damn boat. Only even more oppressed; they were woman.

“Reiner had a man of his own.. from the military.” she looked at her tea “I caught them making love one time when I went to see him.  It should have shocked me but I knew by then that I was more than glad I only had to touch Ymir..”  she sounded so kind a civilized, yet the words she was saying would have been pure poison to anyone. They would be considered hell worthy. Cheating on your cheating homosexual husband with your black maid. Alright, good to know that me being in love with a half blood wasn’t the worst case around.

“How long?”

“excuse me?” Historia asked while Ymir was by now somewhere else with her thoughts, she was laying on the couch, her head on the blonde’s leg. A cigarette between her lips.

I glanced over at Marco, who was still awkwardly looking at the glass of water in his hands “How long have you been able to hide this thing by now”

“I think..” She seemed to be counting in her mind “it’s been three years by now”

I realized that if I’d managed to love Marco, and hide it for that long, it would all be worth it. Marco had told me he wouldn’t do it, then again maybe this whole meeting was some kind of sign.  “That’s quite long”

“yes it had been! It’s lovely though, Reiner doesn’t even get suspicious because he knows Ymir by now. We just brush everything everyone thinks of as work”

I wanted to ask her; ‘do you think I’d be able to pull it off with Marco?’  but I knew it was the worst thing I could do. Not only would that kick Marco’s trust enough to make him take 8 steps back after this one step forward, but he also already knew the answer. No. No he would not be able to pull it off.  He had to marry to not make it suspicious. A male in house wasn’t normal unless it was to help out on the land or such. The chance his wife would be the one at home, and not him, was quite big. His job didn’t require a place he could be alone with Marco. There was no way he could make it work the same way Historia, or her damn husband had.  

“Anyway, Jean, would you two like to stay for dinner? We talked about Ymir and me such a long time, oh my, sorry” she laughed cutely. She was lucky.

 

Marco and Historia cooked together. Ymir did nothing again. She really was a good for nothing help, though if I’d say that Ymir would call me a hypocritical (though she wouldn’t use such a word) white person. Just like every single one of them.

That seemed like the most offending thing to hear so I held back on saying my part to avoid the whole thing.  We sat outside in silence. Ymir had started on the beer and I was just going with it, both holding a cigarette and a simple frown.I kind of saw how the situation, and we, were the same.  “Ya’ know why Marco don’t want you?”

I  had noticed before; Ymir didn’t like to beat around the bush “Something about going to heaven”

“That ain’t a question, it was a start of my damn story”

“You mean it was rhetorical”

“I kinda hate you already”  she casually added.

I sighed “Fine tell me why he doesn’t want me”

“You think in in boxes.. Cus’ to you I am black, and his friend is latino, and you is white, and Historia is like you”  I nodded, because that was the case “and we all different people cus’ of that.”

“That is the case yeah”

“You know who else thinks that way?”

“Uhm, everyone?”

She shot up “Exactly! You know who else Marco ain’t into?”

“oh god-”

“Yes! Everyone”  Ymir sat back and smiled her satisfied smile “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with heaven. If you give it to him so good, like, give ‘em heaven right here. He ain’t gone be able to imagine any better heaven, he gone forget all ‘bout heaven”

I swallowed. I kind of wanted to kick her in the face but I realized that was mainly because she was right. I wasn’t fighting for him and I was putting him in the box of half blood child like everyone else was. He wanted to go to heaven because that was the only place no one was going to put him in that box. “so uhm.. stop the race thinking.. and then?”  God I sounded so weak.

“Treat him right”

“How the hell do I do that?”

She laughed slightly  “I ain’t never treated a man right, so I don’ know”

“Some help you are”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a fake help, actually I’m just a fruit”

I laughed. It was the first time ever, that I heard anyone say those words with confidence. Including myself. It made me feel at place, as if I was normal. As if Marco was normal, and people like us could live among each other as if it was nothing “Oh really now? That explains it” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that, please comment!  
> Sorry for the possible mistakes, I still need to check it :)


	6. From smoke to woods.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a short chapter with a lot of character development on Jean's behalf, I think.

August 1954

 

The whole “‘ treating someone right”’ thing sounds easy, I know. But firsts are never easy unless there’s some real good beginners luck on your behalf. This I had once had, but I had used all of it until I had none left. I had a lot of time, little patience, and an insane amount of lust for Marco.

This all didn’t work well together, but I rarely make it easy for myself anyway. It would bore me. God it would bore me to go to New Jersey or whatever beach all these upper class people were heading. It would kill me to drink wine and have sex with these girls while blond men laughed and howled about how hard it was to fight in the war. To have them spouting about wars outside of America while knowing nothing about the war going on inside of it. They would try to steal a gold digging girl away with smooth words about how I didn’t know what pressure was and about me being a darn fruit. Joke would be on them, but I still wouldn’t risk it even for a second.

No, I sat smoking on at a small table in the back of Wilson’s cafe and read the documents about Pearl Harbor and the Japanese, Native Americans, African Americans, and sometimes switched them with some other illegal stuff like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Sometimes I’d get no reading done, I’d stare at Marco cockily, which was great, but well known as a lied look by the both of us. Then when he finished I’d take him out into the everlasting heat, even when it was almost night. Marco worked until midnight. This was great because no one would watch him get into my car. We were careful, sure; we never got in at the same time, if it was still busy I’d pretend to take something out of my car and then I’d walk back in. It became easier with the days. At first I had been more than nervous.

Ymir’s words were constantly ringing in my head. “Treat him right”, give him heaven on earth, make him feel safe, make him believe that there is nothing better than what he already has. They bit me and beat me up in the middle of the day. They punched me in my face every single time I saw his eyes fall closed a fraction of a second longer than they usually did because he needed it so bad. I didn’t know how to treat this man right, I really didn’t. The first time I tried, I had been sitting with a cigarette between my lips and with my eyes closed. When he asked me what I wanted today, I had answered with “For you to come with me later” and he had denied. I told him that it was important and that I had to show him something and other kinds of bullshit, while reconsidering the way I had asked him and realising how hard it had become for me to not be an ass.

Well the excuses worked as they made him get in my car late in the night and when he was there I drove to a place I knew no one would be and let him get off. I saw in his eyes that he was afraid and I hated that look, but I had realised that it was a look I would never be able to get rid of.  “Come on.” I started walking uphill through the trees and felt him follow. I didn’t dare to look at him. In these moments I was completely sane, so in the moment, that I suddenly realized how dark his skin was getting and how wrong my whole mind was getting.

There’s one thing that still holds my mind sometime, and that is that I stumbled. I stumbled clumsily on a branch or some stupid thing like that and he held me upright. His hand held my arm tightly and his eyes bore through my skull. It send shivers down my spine because I often forgot how strong he was. His eyes always looked afraid, because he had to be. This made me forget the power he held.  It send light to my head because he hadn’t touched me in a very long time. “Careful,” he mumbled, in that accent of his I had learned to love. The accent of someone who is not book smart, but of someone who is wise. I don’t see those two as one, but you need to compromise and combine them to become a good man. I had a lot of the first; he had a lot of the second. The way he talked almost screamed for me to compromise it with my foolish knowledge.

I put my hand over his strong one and whispered “Thanks.”  He took too long to pull back, he noticed this himself too, and with body language cursed himself.

We ended up somewhere where no one could see us and where the stars were very bright. I had found the place not all too long ago, and it was the perfect place for us to not fear for once. Marco was silent and followed my moves mindlessly. It was awkward, it was lovely, but it mainly had a lot of potential.

By now Marco got into my car without even asking about it and we’d head to the open spot with him sometimes ducking in the car when people drove by. It went without discussion or anything of that kind. He had started humming by now and sometimes I’d take his hand and I’d dance with him. He told me I was getting better, I knew he was lying. The fact that he didn’t brush me away and didn’t even think about my touches was enough for me though. He was so at ease that he didn’t mind a lot of things he had before. I was careful, patient, and loving. I noticed this outside of Marco time too, it took my whole personality over and this made me the kind of sweet man I thought I wouldn’t become.  

“My father was killed,” he had said once while sitting next to me. It made my head spin because I knew he didn’t know his father. “They send Mum a card.”

“How?”

“He.. Well ya know how he’s Italian?” Bodt. Marco Bodt. Yeah I could have known. “Ain’t no place to go for an Italian after the war. It’s like Japanese or Germans, ain’t no place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He deserved it.”  Even though he was right, it scared me to hear such words out of his mouth. He didn’t blame other people for his downfall. He could get beaten up and blame himself.  “White men shouldn’t go near black women, she coulda been killed.”

“Marco.”  What was it I wanted to say? He was right.

“I’ma get killed Jean.. I swear to God, I will.” He rubbed his hands on his face. His eyes closed.

It broke me. My hands slowly moved up to take his face and make him look at me. I rubbed my thumb over his jawline and his mouth, “I will take you away if they try.”

“You liar.” And he was right, so I didn’t answer. I just pulled him into a rare hug. His arms around me weakly and his breath heavy. I could feel his nose in my neck. Finally, his hand found mine and opened it, though when I thought his hand would fill mine, something else did: a paper. I held it until Marco was done holding me. His breath left my neck and became faster. Only when he appeared steady I opened the paper. Priorities.

The paper turned out to be a picture. A picture of a dark haired, handsome man with a light skin. He had a confident smile and deep eyes you got a little bit lost in. He stood straight, so straight that it should have been disgusting. It wasn’t.  “M-my father.”   

“Oh..”  A silence fell for a while. I wanted to reach out to touch Marco again but I couldn’t. “You look like him.”  It was wrong to say that. I should have punched myself in the face for it, but it was true. Marco looked like his father quite a lot. The same eyes, the same freckles but worse, the fact that his hair was barely curly. He was black, and he’d consider himself a negro but.. he was like his father.  “Handsome,” I don’t know if that made it better or worse.

 

 

Often I would get take-away food. I hated the fact that I couldn’t eat with him at a dinner table. I had hinted that he should take me home with him again, but he always brushed it off. There was no time, no excuse, no reason. Now it wasn’t like a dinner table could beat the night sky, but I was worried about where to go when it got colder. Would it be like a summer fling without any touching? Would we be limited to the cafe again?

I had asked Mother about getting myself an apartment or small place. She didn’t know why the dorms weren’t fine, but she trusted me nonetheless, which is quite empty-headed since I am not to be trusted (and I never trust so I don’t know where I got that). It didn’t take all too long for her to agree and to get us looking for apartments. Apartments for me to see Marco in. Hotels were impossible because the majority of hotels didn’t take both white and black people, and if they did they most certainly didn’t have rooms together or even next to each other. I was honestly starting to think about getting two apartments, another for Marco, but then dad would certainly wonder where his money went and I wasn’t ready to take lies about Marco to the next level. Not lying would be worse though; “I fell flat on my face, with my heart leaking into the mouth of the half African, half Italian man” would be a great answer. Best way to avoid beatings.

Anyway, if I did manage to get Marco an apartment, there was no way he’d even agree to living there. Now getting myself one, just so that no one would see me getting him home, was also quite dangerous because even when Marco and I were closer, Marco was sheltered.

“When I was younger I’d look up at this sky, and could only think ‘bout getting away, dying or vanishing.”

I ate some of the food I had brought and nodded. I couldn’t see Marco properly anymore because the moonlight was the only thing that lit up his face, but I knew he was laying on the ground with a soft smile and eyes falling closed from time to time. Because I knew exactly what he did while having a certain voice or a certain breath. And like that everything around us was gone. Our skin colours were impossible to feel, smell, taste, or hear. We were just us. “And now? What do you think of now when you look at the sky?”

“I ain’t got no idea.” I heard a peaceful hint in his voice. A soft smile, perhaps.

“I think.. that the stars are your freckles..”  

He laughed and turned to me, the wind was louder than usual but the sky was still as open. “Then you are the moon, ‘cause you’re so white.”

“I was trying to get a tan, but it just doesn’t fit into my schedule. The sun’s always gone when I head out!” He laughed. Now, for the first time, I felt his face touch my leg. His breath was slow. My breath fit into his two times. While he breathed in, I breathed in and out, yet the pace fit.  “You smell like spices,” I told him while looking at the head that was laying against my leg.  

He hummed something that made no sense. Sleepy. A low voice. I had to keep my insides, mind, and dick under control. Then slowly his chuckles began making sense more and more. “You got it bad”  he had hummed.

“Yeah” I had answered.

There were minutes of silence. His breath died down. His hums vanished. His smile was to be felt on my leg. Then after a minute or five Marco lifted his head and put it onto my lap properly. He snuggled into my leg and whispered, half asleep, “I be prayin’ for ya.”

I fell asleep that night too, even though it took me a while. Eventually my body couldn’t take it anymore. I prefered staying up and listening to Marco’s breathing. Looking for things that smelled the same way. Thinking of songs that described him.

Spices, coffee with milk and some cinnamon, this is heaven to me, I’m a fool to want you (because we had danced on that once), soft, smooth, low, calm, gorgeous and mainly strong.

 

We had never seen the place we spent a lot of our time while it was light out. But realisation is brighter than you expect it to be when realisation is the morning light. My eyes snapped open because of it. Waking up afraid and stressed.

Marco was not lying next to me.

My hand slipped through my hair while I looked around me, Marco was nowhere to be seen.  “Jean we need to go,” but he was to be heard. I looked around and found the source of the voice standing against a tree. His eyes told me that I had let it get too far, that he had let it get too far.

“Calm down,” I mumbled with a glare on my face.

“I am, but I can’t stay with you. I can’t be with you.”

I grunted and closed my eyes - a mistake. “Yeah, I know, it’s getting kind of old still”. I blame the morning. In the morning I will curse every single thing around me. I will say things I don’t mean or let everything harsh slip out without a second thought.

“You’re not taking my life seriously.”  I was. I was trying to make his life the best thing, not that I was doing a very good job, but I really was. “You’re just trying to sleep with me and you don’t care if everyone knows what I’ve done.” It was a statement, not a question. He was panicking. He didn’t mean for those words to come out, but they did. He was tired and he should have been at his work a long time ago. Today was saturday, which meant that he needed to work for a white family. Not at the Wilson’s. The job was done for it.

“You don’t know what I care about! When have you ever done something for me?” I was yelling, but I didn’t mean it. I’m not good at being right. I’m wrong. Always wrong. Since when was that bad?  

My hand was wrapped around his collar, his stronger ones around mine. We were both looking tired. Why could we not calmly wake up next to each other? Why could we not still touch when completely sane, when able to see each other? Were we racist like the rest of the nation or were we hypocritically fearful like our nation?  “I ain’t never the one pushing.”

I pushed him against the tree. His eyes spat fire. He looked like he was going to punch me, I felt his arm flex. “Ya ain’t the one who dyin’.” Too close. Too fast.  A fist hit a jaw.

Mine.

My fist.  

My fist hit his jaw while I glared at him. Waiting for him to punch me back. Daring him to punch me back because I thought he did. I thought he was doing that when I punched him. He could choke me with one hand if only he wanted to, his body languages was strong and protective.  “What are you doing?!” He stared at me with his eyebrows up. His eyes calm but somehow scarily emotionless.

“Why won’t you ever fight back!?”

He was breathing fast. “I ain’t gonna punch you, Jean.”

Slowly and carefully I walked closer to him. I set my hand on where I had just punched him in a morning rage. I wondered why he didn’t. His eyes were sad. He was kind of weak in my hands. He would not punch me. He would not resist. I told myself that.

And with that I pushed my lips onto his. Not in a very romantic manner. I just pushed him up a tree a little. Standing on my toes just a little bit, and holding his face tightly. I licked his mouth. His mouth didn’t open. I could barely feel his warmth before the kiss broke.

A fist against my eyebrows. Pain shot through me. Marco pulled back, wide eyes. “What?! Why punch me now?” I let my hand cover the place he had punched me, Marco’s eyes going from shock to confidence.

“You tell me, all A law student.” I raised my eyebrows, tears in my eyes (weak), and my hands in my face. “What has the worst punishment, homosexuality and rape or abuse?”  

It took me a while to realise that he was referring to the fact that I could charge him for both without any trouble. No one would mind his side of the story. No one would mind the fact that he made money for his family too.  

Tears shot into my eyes, they shouldn’t have, but they did. I was weak and my body was shivering. “I am trying to take keep you safe!”

“Don’t reach for the sun,” his voice broke. The words he spoke were true, but he was not mad. The lips that had hit his no longer disgusted him. “Don’t.. you gonna get burned.”

Marco slowly started walking towards the car. With slowly I mean very slowly. I followed behind him, wiping tears off my face and hiding myself in shame. Thinking of ways to cover the fact I had cried like a little kid.

There was no need, right before we got to the car Marco had turned to me, wiped my tears away with his rough thumb, and then told me all by looking into my eyes. Maybe we weren’t supposed to talk, I thought, words always ruined us while feelings came from both sides. Mainly. We weren’t on one pace yet, and if I wanted to treat him right I couldn’t touch him like I did. “Come on, let’s get you to work.”

 

I dropped him off a few streets away from his work. He walked there and I drove to the street to watch him get in. He didn’t.  His boss was standing outside, screaming in front of his big house. Screaming at mine, screaming at who I wanted to protect.

Then he got punched in his face, for the second time that day,  and he did nothing once again. He looked at the ground, but stood straight. I saw him mumbling apologies, hoping they didn’t fire him. I wanted to step out and punch the white man in his face. That would certainly make him lose the job. That would certainly be hypocritical.

I had done the same to him.

I hated myself for it.

When he walked into the house I was left alone in the car that smelled like him. The music was gone. My face hurt because of the way he had hit me and even worse; I could feel his lips on mine. It felt weird and empty, but what kind of right did I have to whine? I had all. I deserved none.

"Damnit!" The car horn howled loudly as I punched the steering wheel.     



	7. From cold water flats to liars in church.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first real kiss happens :)

**_August 1954_ **

 

I believe it was the 22nd, though I wouldn’t take a bullet for it. It was a lazy Saturday evening and all the people who were usually hidden in their office jobs were now hanging around Mr. Wilson’s bar. It was a booming day, good for business. Marco was out on the floor, which amazed everyone (including me) as it was a new experiment because the other waiter had gotten fired due to the lack of money. But for today, the lack of money was the least of their troubles. There were people, and lots of them too. Marco was running and Mr. Wilson was putting on a happy face (maybe he was happy, who knows). 

The whole busy mood also meant I wouldn’t talk to Marco, but that wasn’t necessarily what I was looking for that night. I was looking for a place that wasn’t my home, but somehow was more than anyplace else. Just to be away. Just to get away into these wonderful streets filled with secret queers and negro lovers. The land of the fairies, perhaps. Go and you won’t ever return, all that Jazz. 

“Well if it isn’t Jean Kirschtein.” I looked up at him, but I don’t remember showing any greeting on my face. Aversion came closer to it. “Haven’t missed that darn angry look, kid.” His voice was strong and howling like ever. I could still hear his great laugh in the back of my head. Hwuh, hwuh, hwuh, and all the neighbors awake. Wondering, God, why let this man live at four am? Don’t you know my kids need rest? Who in the world is making this making this hideous laugh happen? Little did they know it was I, Jean Kirschtein, because I had told the other he wasn’t handsome (which he was) and that I was no fruit (which I am).  “How have ya been?” 

“Same old,” I took a swing of my whiskey, opening his eyes. My eyes fell back into the room - away from his face - and slid over Marco’s body. I smirked without knowing this when it happened. 

The hideous happened: his laugh. “ ‘same old’ means studying law and sinning with old men for ya!” Well, not far. 

“I’m bein’ honest aren’t I?” 

“Sure, that’s the way I remember ya,” he laughed again, but softer his time. His eyebrows up to his hairline. He had gotten old. Thirty? Thirtyfive? Couldn't have been younger than thirty.  “Let me buy ya a drink kid.” 

“I have a drink.”  I rolled my eyes. “Besides, I make more than you do.”

Faster than I had seen it coming his mouth was close to my ear. So close that you knew it was not just to get over the noise. “Maybe if ya want me to treat ya like a lady in other places you should take it in all. You’re gorgeous Kirschtein, take it the way ya get it.” I turned my head a little bit, making more space for his lips, but he backed away. “Can I have another whiskey?” He called to Marco, his hand was still on my neck, tightly and roughly, as if he owned me, but I had somehow gotten used to it.I knew I had to let it happen for it to be alright. Marco looked at me though, and he noticed. He looked straight in my eyes and he knew what was going on. It was my useless rebellion to screw around in front of his eyes and it shouldn’t have been heavy like it was, but it was, as Marco was stern and disappointed in the man he had talked to the evening before as if they were best friends.  “Best friends who would never touch,” said a little voice inside of my mind constantly. The voice that was most likely the reason I went  “Are ya god damn deaf? Watcha’ starin for, hah? Damn Bastard-” He had a temper, I knew that.   

“Let’s go right now. I don’t want any more of this whiskey,” I threw the drink I still had into the back of my throat and stood up. He followed, like a dog, his arm around my neck and his walk one of a drunk tart. He was trash, really, absolute trash. 

A soft voice raptured my mind. Absolutely threw my mind around. As if he was throwing all the cells in my body against others until I just had liquid and emotions. It was Marco’s, and Marco was being dangerous that second, he didn’t care for a second.  “Jean.” 

He turned quicker than I had ever seen a man turn, taking my neck with him “Did he just say your god damn-” 

“Let’s go,” I hushed, but I couldn’t pull him with me. Marco had turned me into nothing.

“Yeah.” 

 

For a while, it was really good being back to my old self. My old self means laying on the mattress in a cheap flat in a bad, but white, neighborhood with one arm behind my back, one arm holding me up, and a hand pulling me back from my mouth and neck. Sometimes I’d let my mind get too far, and my thoughts would yell, “There he is ladies and gentleman! The promising Jean Kirschtein!” but those thought would be gone with a single thrust. Besides, if I had to choose between my original plan and this, this would be more honorable. At least it was a white man. Maybe I should have just chosen flings with men like these over the beautiful half blood who would die on the street anyway. Would save me a lot of pain.  

In the morning I lit one cigarette that wasn’t mine. “Tomorrow I’ma be heading for toronto. I like this way of ending my days back home.”  I didn’t reply, I concentrated on smoking my cigarette, my belly felt different and painful, not because of the sex but because of the damn emotions. Not for this man. For Marco. “I’d like ta’ meet again when I get back.” 

“I’d rather not.”  

He turned to me and kissed my neck softly; I pushed him back. “Who was the boy?”  I shrugged. “The bastard who knew yer name.” 

“A great man,” I mumbled while turning my back, a smile lit up my face just thinking about it. Disgusting but oh so loving. 

“Why?”  

I thought about it. Too many reasons. It was a look, a fight, a certain smile, a certain way he made me want him. “He managed the one thing all of you fail at.” 

Luckily the asshole was dumb. He didn’t know what I was talking about. Thank god he didn’t know because he would have had Marco’s head. I was stupid for not letting people talk trash about Marco anymore. I should have. We weren’t merely talking about pride here. 

Without saying another thing I took my clothes off the floor and started getting dressed. He watched me carefully. “Sure ya don’t want another coffee? Breakfast?” 

“I need to go to church soon.” His howling laugh galmed through the flat. He started yelling something about dildos and getting on my knees again. Ignoring him was the one best option. 

“I missed ya kid.”

“Get yourself a wife already.” He laughed again. “Next time you see me I’ll be taken.” 

“By a woman?”

I buttoned the last few of my buttons and pretended not to be thinking about Marco. I wanted to run away with him. All I wanted was Marco. Yet the right answer to that question was yes. Yes I would be taken by a woman soon, because he was becoming the kind of shameful he couldn’t be when trying to survive. “You think you can fit two more people into your truck?” 

He smirked, “Sure can.”

I nodded and put my hat on my head. “See you next time then.”

The door was unlocked, so I walked through it without a second thought of trouble. “When might that be?”  He ran after me into the stinking hallway of the disgusting flat. I shrugged and walked on. He could do nothing but watch me walk down the stairs, out of place and gorgeous. 

 

Church passed slowly and the heat had taken over my mind. Every single word sounded empty. Sweat slid over my pained and numb body like it would for a sinner in church. For a sinner like me. Maybe that saying should be changed to ‘sweating like Jean Kirschtein in church’ because God, it would make even more sense. God doesn’t see color, Marco had said, maybe his sins weren’t as bad as the white male would call it then, but they were enough. Enough for shame he didn’t have. 

“ John, the one whom Jesus loved, couldn’t stop talking about Jesus’ love. He tells God’s children to love one another, not to hate one another. ‘Hate’ can be hot hostility or cold indifference. It can mean that you want to kill someone—like Cain did his brother Abel—or you just want to critique them. We’re more like Cain than Abel, but Jesus still loves us. Love is defined at the cross of Jesus. Stop hating others by closing your eyes to their needs. Jesus loves, then we love. Jesus serves, then we serve. Jesus gives, then we give. It starts with Jesus. He changes us so we can be more like him.” I closed my eyes for a second. I couldn’t understand Marco’s hope. I couldn’t understand how he - and everyone - could put their hopes in something so weak, while he couldn’t do the same in me. I didn´t understand why his world seemed so much brighter. 

Right after church I took his car and drove to Marco’s church in silence. Any music would make my head hurt. Still, the silent car on the corner of the street caught Marco’s eye. His family was laughing and and talking loudly. They were alive. It was something that kept me amazed. Those black people, those people in the darkest yet gayest streets were always most alive. They lived in cold water flats with artists, queers, and madmen, but they were goddamn alive. I was envious.That I, the prodigy, had no right to be alive like they had. I just had regret and Marco. Marco who was talking to Mr. Wilson. His alibi. The truth. Maybe a combination of both. While he walked he didn’t look inside. He walked straight up to my car and got in without any resistance; this alone was either an amazing achievement or the scariest thing in the world. I couldn’t choose back then. Still can’t. “Hey.”

“Good afternoon, Kirschtein.”

“Ain’t all that good,” I breathed out; Marco nodded without a smile to be found. Unusual.  “Okay listen... I know you will get mad at his, but I talked to a man, a truck driver, and he’ll be goin’ to Toronto, I was thinking we could-”

Finally he looked at me. “Is that truck driver the man you were with yesterday?” 

“Well yeah, but I was saying-” 

Marco laughed humorlessly. “And you’re thinkin’ I’ma sit down in a car with that man?”    
“Marco-” 

“And you think he ain’t gonna have my head?” Marco’s throat seemed tight “You think I won’t have his?” 

I looked into his eyes sternly and shook my head “I do.” 

“Why is it you is so smart and yet you get so stupid?” 

“I’m spoiled.” Marco’s eyes held a lot of disappointment. He knew it was the truth, but he hated the fact that I dearly believed in it. 

Maybe he kind of hated me too. 

He took my neck and let his thumb slide over my face slowly. A fast and stressful pace, but the most amazing thing I had ever felt. “You are trash, really, why you think that’s an excuse? I’m Goddamn mad and I can’ even show it. I- I’m doing my best I can and you think I’m playing here. It’s like I gamble and put my life on you, but you can’t- but you ain’t- you just.. “  and that was it. I leaned in and threw my arms around him tightly. Just holding him like that. I swear, in that moment the world could have dropped and I wouldn’t have noticed. He was shivering in my arms, and it was the first time because nothing made him shiver except from having to trust and having to lust. People made him, because he belonged nowhere but in my arms. 

“I can be steady. I can be trustworthy.” I choked on my words.

“You a’ bored with yo’ life. You only like me ‘cause I’s a freak show.” 

I pushed him back, took his chin into my hands. “What the hell made you think that?” 

“You said that.” 

“Marco. Marco. I lied. I try so hard to keep on a tough face. Marco, I don’t ever try. I clap in my hands and the world falls the way I want it too. I try for you.” 

Marco pushed my hand away “You had sex with that man. You care about that, you want that from me because it will give you your  darn sinful rush.”

“I am trying to keep you safe and educated. I helped you and your mum and I will give you everything when in need just so that you can get a bit of your dreams and you punched me when I kissed you. So no. No I do not only care about your body, Marco. I care about your well-” I had noticed his hands on my face again, but the lips that interrupted me were a surprise. They found me roughly, but soon turned soft. And it felt crazy, because his lips were a bit thicker. His hand a bit rougher. His emotions a lot deeper. He didn’t push my mouth open but softly caressed my lips with his while he ignored my body moving forward more and more in the one second he dared to do this. I screamed all that was wrong. He screamed all that was right. It sounded so beautiful together. 

He pulled back after a peck that had thrown my whole life into the void as if it was nothing. Maybe nothing. Compared to Marco it really was nothing. 

The darker man sat in his seat for a few seconds more looking forwards with a heavy breath as if he had ran for his life. I stared at him, but he didn’t look back. He just glanced at me one time (his face didn’t show regret, just fear) and then opened the door. “Don’t let other men take you. I got my life on you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a sspecial thanks to my beta/ editor http://acowworthfightingfor.tumblr.com/ (: <3


	8. From law to an one room revoluton

**  
**

Eren stared me dead in the eye across the table. Over all those cups of coffee and after all those empty words. We had spoken about school, books, Armin, and our families. We had spoken about everything except from, both what we wanted to talk about and about woman. Women because - to him - there was only one, and every other woman hurt, and for me because Eren secretly knew about my queerness. Eren knew all along. Every time I denied. Every time I had had sex with women. He knew.

“She moved to California, Jean”

“What? How? Eren that’s the other side of the country, you can’t be sure”  
Eren frowned “I don’t care about being certain. She’s got family living there. Most Japanese live there. You too know that, it’s only logical. Jean, wouldn’t you go too?”

“Are you planning on going this year? You don’t have enough time to travel all the way to the other side of the country. Once you find her, you will never return, I know you”

Eren lit a cigarette and handed me one too. There was a short silence full of breathing smoke “ I have little reason to stay”

“You could take care of her proper damn good if you get a job”  

“No.. no, I could never, I have to marry another girl if I get a good job. No, I’ll get a low class job where no one cares about the people I live with. Like some kind of.. New generation, low educated, lover of all.. They won’t care about me then”     I swallowed. He did have a point. Automatically I thought and linked his situation to mine. Not that I had not realised before, that I could never be a lawyer and be with Marco. Being with Marco (and having people know it, low key) would mean living in constant fear, living with little money and never heading into open air. Never doing groceries together, never even talking in public. How many times would I have to say ‘he works for me.’  How many people would I have to look into the eyes, knowing that their fist would hit Marco’s cheek without a reason (like mine). Oh, how, how would I explain never marrying. How could I tell Marco that I had found a girl to marry? God, he couldn’t work for me while she was at home, just as an excuse.

Couldn’t Historia get a divorce and marry me?

“How’s your other race one?”

“I- I don’t have a lover right now”

Eren breath his smoke in very deeply, then blew it into my face daringly  “You have someone.. Someone you are thinking off”

This was our game. It could easily escalate. It could be nothing and calm and we could end up bleeding. This was our game and in this case, he seemed to have the upper hand.  “Yes.. A black”

“A black! Are you in love?”

“No. No.. it’s not a woman. It’s a friend”

He laughed. Oh he laughed and it send shivers down my spine. I didn’t know how to get out of this situation. I knew that Armin had told him all he knew by studying me. All he knew because, I once looked at Armin that way, and I had told him. It was nothing much but to Armin… it was enough to tell Eren. Eren knew and his eyes screamed the words Armin meant to do no harm with.   “That’s a funny thing to say for someone like you”

I glared at him. A somehow devilish feeling inside of me. It could come out. It was laying in my vains, on my lips, in the tips of my fingers. “What are you trying to get at, Eren?”

“How long have you been with this person?”

“There is nothing”

“What kind of man is he? Educated?”

“Might be”

Eren leaned across the table a little further “How did he manage to get you in his grip for that long?”  How? Like I would know.  There were dark and passionate eyes. There was a light shade of brown all over his skin and it was getting darker and darker with every summer day. His freckles spoke a thousand words. Every single one of them. Soft hair. Low voice. Tall. In all respect he could give me his facts and his pain. In all kindness he could put his head on my lap and let a soft, drunken moan go. Like black men could on a sax. Like all lovers could in bed. Drunk and sweet and upset. Wide eyes and cries in fear, yet he was daring to take the step. He was willing to die.

I had thought about it a lot.

He was willing to die for me.

Was that the reason he had me in his grip? Was that the reason I was willing to die for him?

No. No that reasoning doesn’t seem quite right. Love could never be my death like it could be his.  “It is the other way around. You should be amazed, the other way around”

Eren smiled proudly “Look. Jean.. you know where the vacation house of me and my parents is right?”

“Sure do”

“Well, since my mother got ill and my father left we haven’t gotten around to going there, though I am thinking about taking Mikasa there eventually..”   I nodded slowly “but since I’ll be gone, I was wondering if you wanted to watch it?”

“It hasn’t been watched in forever. You leaving isn’t-”  I realised where he was getting at;  There would not be a way to figure out who was paying the rent of this fancy apartment this black boy was living it. There would never be a place where people’d see this black and white male getting home.  “What are you getting at, Eren?”

“I understand you, Jean, don’t you dare to think that I don’t”

I swallowed “I- I could watch the place for you.. Yeah”

“I’d like to know everyone who’s going to be there though. I want to meet your ‘friend’΅ He said friend is a sarcastic way, as if he wanted to calm me down and disturb me at the same time.  

“No.”  

“Jean.. It’s a goddamn favour”

“No. I can’t do that to him”

“You can’t do anything to him. He can’t eat fruit in a light like this”  what a sneaky darn way to tell me about our oppression for being homosexuals, in this restaurant. What a good thing that he thought about not making people stare at us.

I glared at him.  “He’ll stop trusting me, Eren”

“You are egoistic”  I nodded. I knew that already.  “I’ll be kind. I won’t do anything. I’ll tell him why I’m there.. Whatever you want”

I didn’t know why it was that important to him, but it was. Somehow, it was.  “We’ll go at midnight, when everyone is drunk and when he can stop soon after”

 

So that was that. Eren and I were drinking wine until late that evening. I put on some black blues, and he stared at me like he knew Marco had gotten the best of me.  “He’s Italian too, you know” somehow, now that someone knew, I couldn’t shut up about Marco. Someone was willing to listen and it was someone I could trust (mainly because he was in the same damn boat).

“So it’s double wrong”

Oh boy, he didn’t even realise. Double wasn’t even close. It seemed infinite “I wish.. It’s more than that though.”  Well it sure was that. Eren did have love for another race and the enemy, but he wasn’t gay and Mikasa wasn’t a half blood. Eren lifted his glass to cling it against mine and we talked about books we had read (and shouldn’t have read).

Our laughs got a little bit louder, our worries a little bit stronger, his anger a little bit worse but the wine kept we drinking kept us liking each other. These days were rare. Most of the time we didn’t really enjoy each other’s presence.

When we walked through the streets at night no one stared at us because it was the kind of day in which lots of lost people went through these streets. Eren rarely did, but he loved it. “This generation gonna take over the world. All these people are flowers and fruits like yer’ ass”

“Are you one in my flower pot?”

“You wish. I’m just lost, Jean, I’m just lost” He laughed to himself while almost falling over his own feet “You got lost in the darkness”

“Oh fuck off. He’s not even that dark, you’ll be surprised when we got to the cafe”

Eren linked his arm with mine. “That’s right.. He’s a half blood, of course”

“Did you not get that when I told you he was both African and Italian?”  Eren merely laughed at me words. Knowing how stupid he was but not having it bother him. Eren was a lover and a fighter. He was just happy that he could get away to get his girl and come back to show her to his man, who was the most intelligent man ever, and live together. The three of them, like they were when we were teenagers. God would try to kill them and darn, they would put up quite a fight against him.  
Suddenly I was amazed by Eren. I had always looked down on him but now, for a second, I appreciated that ever lasting fighting spirit. I would fight god, the law and the fake freedom of liberty.  
I would fight anti-miscegenation, homophobia and poverty. Or not. Maybe that’s not poetic enough.God and law seems so wonderfully indirect. Now homophobia… it slapped me in the face. For homophobia you need homosexuals (and even worse; homophobes).

Without me noticing it in the silence that had hit Eren and I, we stood in front of Wilson’s cafe. Eren was yelling about how glad he was that we had found the place because ‘oh, how god damn hungry, I could eat a horse and a whole cow and thousands of french fries because oh boy, boy the hunger’’ he was.  He spoke out and almost walked in without me realising it. I called him back and yelled, as aggressive as I could manage in my good mood: “Eren, if you make him anxious, I’ll kill you”.

He understood.

The soft and cute bell of the shop was suddenly seemed way too loud. I glared at the door, not knowing where the bell hung, but knowing that it was useless anyway. Blame it on the alcohol like I would never blame my carelessness toward Marco on the alcohol. Being silly is nice to blame on being drunk, merely being stupid isn’t.  “What cat-came and pooped on your mood, Sir Kirschtein?” Mr Wilson called. Eren was taken back by the lack or politeness. WIlson didn’t notice Eren, or he didn’t care, beats me.

“This guy”I replied, pointing to Eren, but they both knew it was an impolite joke they would best leave un-replied to. “Marco in?”

“Kirschtein..” Mr Wilson warned. I knew what he was warning me about and I knew  that he knew that I wouldn’t do anything stupid. He was afraid though. I was too. We stared at each other for what seemed like ages about it. Eren was forgotten but he was probably silent for he wanted to know what our silence was saying. And it was saying a lot. More than he could figure out in a few seconds, minutes, hours, or however long we had stood there. “Go sit, I’ll go fetch ‘m. Ya boys want anything to drink?”

I asked for a wine and Eren for a beer. We sat down and Eren talked, I stared  to the kitchen’s door. “Looka t all these folks! I ain’t never seen this many white folks in a black place. It smells like the kind of coloured spices they always eat, oh damn that’ll be making me even more hungry, can ya ask yer’ boy to get me some food?”  His slur got worse. “You ain’t going to treat him like that, ask someone else”

“Then what have you been doin’?”  

I didn’t answer him. Instead I gave him a cigarette and lit my own before giving him the lighter. Looking at the door. Still looking at the door like, if I were to see him first, I could help him accept and realise what I was dragging him into. I couldn’t, true indeed, but he still walked out of that room. A nervous face, one glass of wine and bottle of beer, a way of swallowing that reminded me of my lips on his and the damn nerves that had we already had before I brought someone else into it. “Good evenin’  Mr. Kirschtein”

“Marco, no need, he knows”  Marco turned completely white (not literally, of course, he couldn’t even get half as white as I was).. As if all the blood and faith went to his feet that second. “Let me help you with that” He gave me one glass of wine, but put Eren’s down like he would for any guest. “Come sit down with us”

“I would rather not” Marco quickly mumbled.

“Everyone is drunk”  

Eren butted in “You have quite straight hair, actually, surprised me” as if he wanted to confirm that yes, yes everyone was drunk, including himself.  “Mikasa has nice straight black hair too, yours isn’t that straight but it is dark so I dig that”  and with that he sipped his beer.

“Mikasa is his girl. His japanese girl who left after Pearl Harbor. This is Eren, I told you about him”

“Eren? Yes, he did” He shook Eren’s hand and then he slowly sat down on the chair in front of us. Like someone could catch him doing the same thing he had done more often when alone with me, and get results far worse.  

And, without me asking, Eren started talking. About Mikasa, about Armin, about how he once knew Historia and had heard that they knew each other too. God, he talked about our fights and about he drunk he was, but little about what was the point. Little about why I had taken him here. Marco got calmer, he laughed a little bit more and somewhere he put his leg against mine and acted like he didn’t notice (which he did, as he had never done such a thing before).

Eventually Mr. Wilson called that they were going to close the shop and that ‘ain’t nobody was gettin’ another drink, cuz’ it’s half past three and we ain’t damn insane’. That was fine. Eren left with those people. I insisted on leaving with him because he was drunk but had nothing to say but “no way! You can stay with Marc!” and left with the rest of the crowd, without paying for a thing.

Worth it.

I breath out. The cafe completely empty and Marco’s stare burning into me.  “Why would ya’?”  I was so goddamn afraid that he would get mad again. Just telling me that it was his life on the line and yes, yes, it really was his life I was putting on the line because I couldn’t get my emotions and love for complications back in their small box. They wouldn’t fit anyway.

“Eren has a house in the middle of the woods and he asked me to watch it” I had been looking down, until now “He figured out about you a long time ago.. I should probably tell you about that”

Marco nodded softly and we sat on an old couch that smelled like there was beer spilled all over it, a few candles burning and the light soft.  Mr wilson yelled that he was closing up, and asked Marco to close down the shop. Marco said he would, softly so that he wouldn’t yell in my ear. “Marco!” Mr Wilson yelled, because he hadn’t heard him. Marco now yelled back that he would, hurting my ear. I couldn’t care less. I still found him charming and soft.

Now we were all alone in the cafe. This was a first time and it was a little bit scary, very exciting still. “Tell me ‘bout this Eren” Marco mumbled “How come he knows you dig men?”

I smiled softly, Marco didn’t seem amused, but his words were rather curious and sweet than angry. “Eren used to be together with his two best friends all the time, Mikasa and Armin. I knew them back then too. When Pearl Harbor happened and Mikasa moved away Eren’s world collapsed and he became obsessed with finding her. You know that too, I told you this. The other friend, Armin, is the mind behind all Eren’s ideas but Eren was sometimes so passionate that it drove Armin insane. Armin wanted to study and he wanted have calm. I liked Armin..when I was younger. He was just.. Intellectual and softhearted, a little bit like you sometimes, too good for his own good.” I smiled at the memory.  “ I told Armin that if he needed a calmer space he could come to my dorm room, which is an extra big room. Of course he did and we got closer without Eren noticing this, and we got a little touchier without Eren noticing this and we had sex without Eren noticing this… then one day Armin just told me that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be that close, and I agreed, it had started feeling unnatural anyway.”  Marco frowned, he didn’t know why I was telling him this. He didn’t want to know who I had fucked and had let fuck me. I hoped that what I saw in his eyes was jealousy, that would have lit my heart on fire. Marco. Jealous. “Of course, Armin couldn’t stand lying to Eren, his best friend, any longer and he told him about everything.”

“Oh” Marco mumbled while stroking his own hand with the other.

“I only figured this out a while ago, but one time I had a fight with Eren about me heading into these streets.. These.. Negro streets, and he just knew, no one had to tell him why or for whom. He just knew and got me into a corner.”

Marco laughed hassistant “Some lawyer you are”

He was right. “We can use that house, in the middle of the woods, where no one ever comes, as our place to be together, Marco. If you want that.”

Marco daringly put his arm against my body, and linked it with mine. His head followed to touch, but not yet  rest on, my shoulder. “Maybe I can study there too. It’s been way too damn busy at home.” I turned my face a little bit and kissed him on his hair, a risk worth taking. “I feel like I’m living in a routine that isn’t mine”

“You are one of the smartest men I know”  These words moved him. His eyes wettened and he forced himself to look down. I held his chin and he pushed back. I dared - now that I had given him one - to give him tens of small kisses on his face (his forehead, his cheek, his eyebrow), as if that would fix the rest of his life. “I’m just so tired.” He whispered. “I’m just so damn tired all the time”  
My thin hands pushed his dark locks out of his face “We can work on that.. I can help”

“And your school?”  
The tips of my fingers felt his neck. He was warm, the kind of warm you always become when emotional. His skin was dark, due to the sun and he looked down as if he was endlessly bothered by the way I stared at him. “Going to work for a company next year.. Starting in September” marco nodded, his face turned from mine but his body leaning into the touch. “Do you mind when I touch you?”  He shook his head. “Okay. Do you mind when I stare at you like this?”

At this he looked up. “A little bit, Jean. For I can’t imagine what I look like in your eyes”  In my eyes he was beautiful. In my eyes his dark brown eyes sparkled and let his thoughts seem deeper than any well could get. To me his skin was a nice tint and every spot he had from too much sun was a battle scar. To me.. To me.. I could never explain what he looked like to me, because he didn’t find himself worthy of that beauty. Better to keep it for myself.

That night we opened another bottle of wine (as if I wasn’t drunk enough to begin with) and drank together. Never had we done this before. It made us feel great and at the same time beat, for we were lonely souls doing something normal with one another for the first time.  
Marco said he didn’t drink much. I told him that that was perfect.  
Marco put on the newest Duke Ellington ballads and started swaying through the room.  I was getting pretty drunk myself. I saw his subtile hips three times double and I was quite pleased about it. He was laughing to himself very softly, and mumbling things about how I had to dance too. I just stood and watched him, not caring much about dancing anyway. I wasn’t a man like that.  White men have ‘hips’ on top of the list of the best world mysteries. Black men like Marco have hips on top of their legs, merely to sweetly cooperate with the way they want to swing and sway. “Marco. You are the most charming being alive”  Marco laughed. “No really. With your damn hips and stuff.  You can act all innocent but your hips are telling me that you know you could have all of me any time.”

“You just made this very clear Jean, my hips have heard that you want me a thousand times” I chuckled and walked up to him, taking the wine out of his hand and throwing it into my own mouth. Swallow. Eyebrows together and lips tight. Gone.  
I took the hand that was now empty (there was no longer wine to hold) and started swaying out of the rhythm with Marco. He noted that my dancing skills were still close to none, I agreed loudly.  

And now, I will tell you something that I have not told you before. In this entire biography I have not let these words slip, nor have I thought about putting these words down for even a second. But in this moment - and I can say this in all honesty - we were free. We were swaying and laughing and we dropped wine all over the floor. Oh good god, we couldn’t care less. And speaking of the good god, we couldn’t care less about him either!  

I was showing him. There it hit me that I was showing him how free and sweet life could be on this miserable ball. I was showing myself how sweet life could be on this devil kissed ball we called earth. Sweetheart sweetheart, I screamed from deep inside me, how is it possible that we can make one another free while all the thousands of laws fail to do so?  Even Eisenhower, even the United states themselves, meant nothing compared to Marco. Great men only existed because no one knew Marco, once you knew him you found everyone small.

“I once kissed a girl” Marco mumbled while I opened a beer. “A black girl, very sweet, it was a year ago. She told her parents and they got extremely mad! But you know what I realised then?”

“What is it?”

“I realised that kissing girls is not nice, and that parents don’t care about bastard kids until their tongue is in their children’s mouth”  

I snorted loudly “As long at the kids like your tongue up their all! I mean, kids are meant to be rebellious. Have you not heard the news! Poets are calling it a ‘revolution though youth’”

“Revolutions always happen through youth”

“And you know who’s youth?” I was now standing close to Marco, my hand on his hip again, my voice hushed.

He chuckled. “Us”

And there I pecked his lips once. Boy, he was drunk enough to return it in a sloppy (and happy) manner and smile. “And you know what’s extremely rebellious and new?” Marco opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words he found on his lips, he found mine. That was the rebelious thing. Not very original. His drunk mind loved it (his sane one would hate that statement. It was dangerous and all that Jazz). He laughed and kissed my cheek and mouth and then cheek again.

“Jean Kirschtein! The most rebellious youngster of America. Ain’t that quite the headliner?”

I let go of him “Marco Bodt! Half blood black boy runs away with the greatest lawyer to rule the world! The revolution, has began!”

  



	9. From pancakes to prayer.

 

The first time we went Eren’s house was scary. I gave him an address but the house was so far into the woods that eventually I ended up waiting for him by the first trees. Rain was falling on the leaves above me. The trees were a shelter that kept the rain away but from time to time one raindrop would fall on my body. On my forehead, on my nose, on my new suit or my hat. That was alright, I was worried that Marco had chosen to walk the long way to the woods before the unexpected rain had started. Not that he had much of a choice. Mr Wilson giving him a day off had been Marco asking a lot from him. Asking the car would be asking millions to the beggar. 

As expected. Marco came walking through the rain, his dark hair hugging his face. He waved kindly and smiled. “You didn’t have to wait” he said, seeming grateful and glad. I felt like I had done well by waiting. Proving he was not just a subject of my prejudice and fake- justice filled mind.  

“I don’t have an umbrella” I mumbled. “But I have clothes lying in the house already.” Now he knew that I was not on my way and decided to wait. He knew I got up and walked all the way to the start of the woods to see him just a little earlier. No one cared. We were standing in a place where no one could see us and where we could barely hear each other. Who cared. I could have screamed I loved the way Marco’s freckles looked with the rain drops covering them and he could whisper that he was glad that I’d be his death in that loving way of his. He’d be my death. God he looked beautiful in that moment. Drenched in rain, thunder interrupting his kind words, his nose running, his cheeks pink and his muscles clear through his wet shirt

“That’s fine.. I’m already wet.” The truth had been spoken, and so we started walking.  Marco said nothing. He just smiled. Such a soft gesture that it would have gone unnoticed if I wasn’ t as nozy as I am. Just like Marco would have gotten unnoticed, if I hadn t been like this. 

My bravest moment was when I took Marco’s cold and wet hand. I felt it again. It was still big enough to make me insecure in his presence. I remember staring at his hands and wondering how anyone could be afraid of those hands. I stared at those hands wondering if someone would ever put a ring around those beautiful fingers of his. Maybe I should have, but I have always been better at thinking than actually doing things.

Marco bumped against my shoulder, uneasy at the gesture of holding hands, obviously not used to casually walking close to someone. But willing. He was willing.  “Sorry.” I snuck my arm around his and put my head on his shoulder. Even closer and even more awkward. Hm, I answered. Just a delighted: Hm.

As soon as we got into the house Marco wanted to start cooking for me. If there was something in the refrigerator, he asked. This was the reason for me to sneak up to him, take a bottle of wine from the kitchen table he was standing against, and filling the two glasses I had been holding. “Let me”

“What?”

“Cook” He chuckled, but when he noticed I was dead serious he mumbled “ ‘ve you done it before?” 

I didn’t answer that, I just opened the fridge to remember what I had bought the day before. Had I cooked before? That was quite the question. “You ever had French cheese?” He shook his head. “Spanish sausage? Olives from Greek?” and again and again.  “Let’s take some of those before eating dinner.” 

That was one thing I was good at. Spoiling myself with cheese, meat and wine. Armin had taught me how important and good it could be when we had a thing going. He had been very patient with every piece of food. Placing it on a big plate carefully. Honey dripping off the goat cheese and oil dripping off the olives. It had something sensual. All those tastes were too extreme. There was a big chance Marco wouldn’t like any of them, but I know they had something beautiful. No. Something expensive. Something that makes you feel like you are better than the rest. 

That was what Marco needed. To be better than the rest. 

“Go sit” Marco awkwardly stood. I pushed the wine into his hand. “Marco, go sit, put the record player on or something.. Eren has a lot of books, you should go look into them” Maybe that was too rough. Marco just nodded, didn’t speak up, and let his hand go through his dark locks. He was panicking a little bit. Of course. If I were him I would know what to do either. Hell, even if I were me I didn’t know what to do. 

Cheese. That’s right. That was the thing I could keep myself busy with. Cheese and thoughts and Marco and a belly that kept tumbling over until there was an unusual rilling in my dick. Forget those last three and start with cheese, I told myself, great thing need to be done step by step. 

When all the food was put together I walked into the living room. It was a warm living room, there was a big fireplace but the summer was - even with rain pouring down - too warm to use it. The whole furniture was old or old fashion. The art had warm colours. There were mainly portraits and naked woman. The whole room ignored that a revolution of modern art had been and was coming again. The curtains were red, the record player was big and from wood, the table was big and from wood, even the house might have been from wood. 

I put the plate down and sat down in the chair in front of the couch Marco was sitting on. I wondered if he chose that spot so I could sit next to him. Sitting on the couch instead of an one person- chair was quite something for the half blood. “What are you reading?”  He pulled up his shoulders and thanked me for getting him food. I filled his glass with wine. “Was it interesting?”   
“Philosophy, I read too slow to understand” 

“To understand it right now. Just because you read slow doesn’t mean you wouldn’t understand. You are intelligent enough, you just haven’t trained reading like everyone else.” 

Marco stared at me, wide eyes, blushing. He stuttered before speaking “You think I’m smart?” 

My heart must have skipped a beat to make me remember that face for ever and ever. It was the most impressive and enlightning thing I had ever seen. That second I remember wishing that I had really thought he was intelligent from the moment I had seen him. I wished that I hadn’t pushed myself on Marco because I wanted to get rid of my boredom and miseducation. “Of course, Marco, I wouldn’t illegally give books to someone if I didn’t expect that they’d be capable of understanding them one day.”

“No offence..but I think you would” 

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I asked him to try some of the cheese and olives. I watched him smile and frown at all the different tastes while he kept me updated on what he liked and didn’t like. Soft Jazz was playing in the background. A record Marco had chosen. I didn’t mind, Marco obviously had the better taste in music. 

If he’d marry me if that was allowed and normal, I wanted to ask him. He took another sip of his wine and closed his eyes as a delighted gesture. I would have married him, if that was allowed and normal. His beautiful adam’s apple moved up and down. He took an olive and kept his hands so that he wouldn’t make a mess. When biting the olive he swung along with the music, smiling and moaning as if he was an saxaphone. Oeh. Aah. I wish I could have moaned with him. That would have been weird because, instead of eating, I had been studying the other’s face.  

Marco held up small toast with brie “Why don’t ya eat?”  I smirked and opened my mouth. “Jean.. no” I laughed and then had my best shot at opening my mouth again. “You’s crazy” and then he did it. He put the toast in my mouth and watched me as I swallowed it with the most smug face he had - probably - ever seen. 

Such a small thing made both of us light up. He seemed to forget what he kept telling himself on the daily:  that he wasn’t enough. “You are quite handsome, you know that” I managed to say somewhere. He ignored it tactfully. “I like the colour of your skin, I like the way your hair falls, I like how big your hands are in mine.” I chuckled. 

“I think you’ve had enough wine”

“What do you think of me? What do you think about the way I look? I’m sure you’ve thought about it at one point.” 

Marco looked at his hands, as if he was trying to figure out if his hands were really that big. “I didn’t really allow myself to think about it like that” 

“Do it now. Look at me now” 

Surprisingly, he did. He looked at me in silence while sipping his wine over and over again. Somehow it was shameless and it surprised me. When the record stop playing he turned it on again. A quick movement. 

I was nothing under his gaze. For the first time I realised that Marco had never been shy under my gaze, because even I had to try hard to keep my cocky face when he looked at me like I had always looked at him.  I let him though. It was what I had always wanted of him. To think about me. To look at me as if I was equal to him. As if I was more than people thought I was. 

“Your nose. It’s thin and I think that’s pretty” I smiled. “You look nicer when you smile, b-but I think that’s only because you never do it. It’s a nice surprise.” 

“I smile.” 

“You smirk.” 

I chuckled at his confident words. “You’re eyebrows look mad but I- I think it’s because you’re thinking of the next stupid yet smart and important thing to do”  I rubbed my eye and held back a sweet laugh. “I like that you’re thin. You look breakable. Your skin is so white it could be see through but.. I like that.. That you look like porcelain no one should touch.”

Like porcelain no one should touch. I guess that was the right way of saying that.  “The owner of porcelain can always touch it.. It’s just that they don’t let other people touch something that is worth a lot and that is breakable.” 

“B-but you get what I mea-” 

I took his hand and placed it on my cheek. For the first time getting closer to him. “Don’t you get what I mean?”  My face turned to softly carass his hand and then kiss it softly. 

“I think I’m starting to understand” 

Soon I was sitting with my legs next to his, my hands on his body and my face close to his. “Sorry, something I make things too hard.” 

That he knew that already, he said, and then he moved his face so that his nose caressed my ear. My body lit up. Shivering. Pulling him closer and putting my arms around his warm body. He kissed my temple softly. Whispered “You will be my end” 

I hushed him “Forget everything.”

“Alright” he smiled. “Except from you, then” Warm and big lips kissed my cheek, the side of my mouth, the side of my nose and then softly my lips. His lips opened just slightly. His tongue inside of me for what seemed like a second. His hands on my face strongly and confident. 

Maybe he just wanted to remind me that what he was doing was dangerous and he wasn’t even trying to back out. He should know though, that I would never forget such a thing. I would never forget the times he was punched and pushed into the ground and cried because of these races inside of him. I just didn’t know when he had, how he had, but I knew darn well that he had. I knew that I had made him. 

He pushed me on the couch softly, as if he was waiting for words from my side, but I just kissed him. I smiled during the kiss. He frowned. He hadn’t forgotten everything, he just didn’t find it more important anymore. Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking rationally. I wasn’t. I would never when near him. 

His breath hit my skin sweetly. I made sure to touch all of his exposed skin with my mouth. From his ears into his neck, from his cheeks to his mouth and then his hand, softer. He shivered when I put his fingers into my mouth sensually. It was most likely something he had never experienced before. “Jean-” 

Hush. My hands carefully unbuttoned the buttons of the shirt I had given him when we arrived. The shirt was a little bit too small for him. I let my fingers slide over his naked chest slowly. He was sweating and his heart was beating harder than mine could ever. Even though Marco would usually breathed slower. 

I pulled out my own shirt, jeans and then laid down. Exposed. More nervous than ever before. Waiting for an answer. 

Marco swallowed “Jean.. I don’t know how-”

“I-I know. Sorry. Fuck. I’m moving too fast. You just looked Goddamn beautiful and you kissed me as if- I shouldn’t have taken it that way.” and that was the most exposed thing I had eve said too. I scared myself. Marco scared me. The man wasn’t even reaching out to touch me anymore and yet he scared me because it felt as if he was still holding me in a tight grip. “Damn” 

“Jean.” His hands held thigh and his thumb caressed it. “I literally just..” He looked away. “Don’t know how to-” 

“Oh”

“You want to have sex, don’t you?” 

I sat up until I was sitting on my knees with my knees between his. I took his shivering hand in mine and kissed it softly. Somewhere I wanted to tell him that with him it wasn’t just that, but I felt like it would mean nothing, like he wouldn’t believe me. “Don’t worry” 

Marco let his body fall against me and smiled as we snuggled softly. That was more than I had expected from him that day, actually. I noticed that he was hard, but I didn’t want to push myself on him. Holding him was enough. “Could you give me a cigarette?” He handed me one and gave himself one too. He asked it with one look. It would take no time for him to stop asking me. I looked forward to that moment. 

The record stopped singing and it started raining softly. Marco had become silent too, he wasn’t asleep but he had, like the record, stopped singing. I didn’t bother to get up, the imitated sound of soft rain the old record gave was a good thing to me. It made the smoke better, the whiskey stronger and it gave Marco even more grace. More than Billie ever could. Just soft rain and half-blood thoughts that must have been loud enough to be heard if the whole world hadn’t been deaf and blind. They were. No one heard Marco. 

Except from me. That’s what no one had expected. That I, Jean Kirschtein, would spend my summer night listening to this black boy’s breath. No one would have expected that the way his belly moaned would send shivers up my spine and a smile to my face. Not Jean Kirschtein, little things like that don’t make him happy. The only thing that could make him happy is succes. 

This was succes.    
“I’ll help you.. Next time I’ll tell you”  He nodded slowly and died his cigarette. “How late do you work tomorrow?”

“Ten” he whispered, but he didn’t answer what I wanted to know. Were we going to sleep in one bed?

He stared at the ceiling, thinking. I stared at his colored skin. My head laying right under his armpit, my nose against his chest, both of our bodies sweating and half naked. Specially my nose and mustache were sweating. His chest was sweating enough to blame him, as I was laying against him and his short armpit hair. 

I listened to his breath again, this while trying to figure out his thoughts. This wasn’t that hard, I guessed that his thoughts sounded like mine, but extremer and more painful. My thoughts were saying that if I’d lay like this, maybe he’d stay. And if I’d stand up, trying to get him into a bed, reality would hit him. 

Marco’s hand found my face, he touched it carefully. Traveling along my jawline. It seemed as if he wasn’t afraid. Like that was something he had never been. As if our love was allowed. 

Our love.    
Darn. 

I kissed his chest softly, because I couldn’t reach far enough to kiss him properly. I mumbled something, but even I could what it was supposed to mean. It sounded sweet. “Me too” he mumbled. That was sweet. I don’t know what he was too. Maybe he just was and felt the sweet mumbling too. It was an emotion. One we both felt. 

Me too. 

World changing words, but the world turned slowly, like it had always done. Because no one knew. No one knew what Marco was telling me like no one knew that the world had turned for years and years until people felt the need to be sophisticated and figured out that the world turned to eventually do nothing about it! Except from putting it into books. Killing the ones who knew.  

Not the world though. They could not kill the world like they could not take Marco from me right now. 

He moaned. 

I moaned back at him. 

Then he snored. 

I giggled shamelessly. 

Never did we stand up from that position. My nose only pushed on his chest a little harder. His chest hair tickled against and inside of it. I loved him that second and I’m sure that, if he had been awake, I would have told him. Maybe I would have cried. It felt like a good moment to cry. With his chest pushed against me. His smell like spices and black. The black smell I had learned to love. The curly chest hair. The slow breath. The snoring. 

I loved him. 

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. I just remember that the morning sun burned my love into my mind. Marco’s sweat burned through my chest into my heart. 

 

Sweet smell woke me up. My stomach cursing. Soft soul music coming from the kitchen. Music that told me that Marco was living. He wasn’t just alive, he was singing along with soul in the early morning. 

I rolled over to my side and wondered when Marco had snuck away. Marco was used to getting up around five. Him sleeping until seven was a damn wonder. Him starting around ten was great. 

My book was laying next to the couch we had fallen asleep on, so I barely had to stretch my arm. The cheese and meat that was left from the day before was gone. I was pretty sure Marco had cleaned the entire kitchen to his liking too. As if he wasn't going to work enough.  

I didn’t read a word as I stared at my book. Constantly I was thinking about how my body looked. How I was going to act when Marco came in. Could I still act as cocky as I had done after Marco knew he had the upper hand? Did I want to?

The breakable, white, skinny, feminine lawyer. The man that puts his legs the exact right way so that the black boy would want to touch him even though they both knew that there was no time for such a thing. 

Marco walked in silently, as if he wanted to avoid waking me up, and put down a full plate of pancakes in front of me. My stomach growled. Marco turned. “Oh, you’re awake.. I went and used the kitchen, I hope that’s alright.”  I hope that’s alright, he said. I just snorted and smiled at that. “L-Let me get the coffee”

Back to acting like I was reading my book. The way to a man’s heart was by not giving him all the attention he wanted, right?

Marco probably didn’t want any attention though. “There you go.. You drink it with one cube right?” 

I nodded and sat up. My body felt sore from lying on a couch with somebody else. Marco’s stronger one didn’t even seem to notice it. “Thanks” 

Apart from that we ate in silence. My mind and belly were still snoring. It was slightly awkward, but only because he had to leave. Having people you want close leave, even if it’s just for a while, is always weird. Not necessarily bad, because you know they’ll return, but it’s weird. How can one truly say he doesn’t mind the other leaving when they try to stop him. 

Secretly. I didn’t speak up yet. 

“Sleep well?” I mumbled, pieces of a still melting away on my tongue. Me hiding it. 

Oh boy, how he blushed. 

It had been a while since I thanked God but now I had to. 

This boy, this boy. 

He swallowed quickly. “Just fine.. Yeah.” another piece of pancake was brought to his mouth but he almost slammed it down when he seemed to remember something.  “What about you?”

“I was awake a little longer than you were”  I smiled “it was quite a rest though.. Warm” 

Marco stuttered but eventually let his words fade into the air until gone. He had nothing to say to that. We had relaxed and it truly was warm. That that was sinful in his eyes. Everyone’s eyes, was none of my business. I chose to ignore it. I had the power to ignore it. 

He did too. I just had to pull it out more carefully. Not everyone is a masochist like I was. 

“I should leave” It was like a whisper not meant for me. “It’ll take quite a while by feet.”

“Let me bring you”

“Jean.” a warning. 

“I know, but-”

He looked me right in the eye “No but.” silenced me “We are no couple. I’m no girl. I’m not white” 

“Yeah.. I know that” 

He looked like he felt guilty, but also like he knew he had said the right thing. He had. He had. Two people like us could never be considered a couple, no matter how hard we pretended to be. No matter how hard we tried to push away who we are just to show each other the slightest bit of love. 

Marco stood up to get his keys. I walked with him to the door and handed him an umbrella just in case.”The weather is fine” he mumbled. I told him that it was just in case.  Awkwardly.  I stood in front of him and begged for strength. No one heard. Marco’s eyes had me weak. I had become weak, just for him. 

My hands found his neck and my lips his mouth. I let my fingers slide through his hair softly. He moved with me. Returned the sweet peck that came after our rough one, and let his nose move against mine softly. I wished he would leave one of his sweet freckles on me so that he would be a part of me. Forever perhaps. 

He pulled away. 

“Jean” he said, as if my name meant goodbye. Goodbye for now. Goodbye forever. I didn’t dare to think about further details. 

After a sweet smile he turned around and started walking. “I’ll wait for you here” 

 

At three am I was still sitting in the living room. The ashtray was full and I was angry at all the books that didn’t tell me what I wanted to know. Just angry. Angry at the typewriter that needed new ink and angry at my father who called me ‘just to make sure that I wasn’t doing anything stupid’. He should have known that I was always doing something stupid yet oh so smart.    
He wouldn’t call it that. 

He said that he had jobs and chances laying on a pile for me and that I should take them. When my internship was starting he asked. Not what I was doing right now. He knew he didn’t want to know that. He hid the true me from himself as much as he hid me from the rest of the world. Jean Kirschtein, his son, was a fine young man who was going to be a lawyer. 

Maybe I was just angry because I missed Marco more than I would admit. 

I was smoking one of the last cigarettes when Marco came in. Three on a Friday. A busy day. His back not straightened and his eyes dead. That was normal for him. I think he didn’t even notice. 

The moment I heard the door open I stood up. Panicked. Sat down again. Then panicked on my seat. My hands found each other and kept me busy. Nervous behavior, things I should know to avoid with my degree. 

“Jean?” 

Now I stood up, going against my usual asshole attitude and walked his way. “You came” I mumbled. 

“You thought I wouldn’t?”  He whispered. 

“Your voice..” I looked away “and it’s kind of late”

He smiled sweetly “I always work late.”

“I know.”

I walked to the kitchen to make him coffee but he stopped me. “Would you mind if I just go to bed?” He asked me. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.. You waited for me” 

“I’ve seen you now.” That scared me. That I dared to say that. I went with it anyway.

Marco walked upstairs and I went with him. Weak lights. Old smell. Rooms that we had only seen for seconds. Bodies that had not met, but fitted. 

Marco put on the bedlight and made me put out the big one. He didn’t even thank me. He was tired. “It’s kind of like this is a home.. Like I’m coming home to you” Marco mumbled with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. I got on the bed from his side, sat down on his lap and put my arms around his neck tightly.  “Jean?”  I nodded against his hair, my arms still around him tightly “will you make the world disappear for me?”

When he said that, I knew something had happened. A white man had screamed at him, called him a bastard child, called his mother a whore, punched him, threw a drink on his. Nothing would be new. He needed white man to do something new. He needed me. 

“Yeah” I whispered against the skin of his neck, then kissed from there to his ear. Licked behind his ear softly. My fingers curled into his hair. Tears in my eyes. I didn’t know why. He should have been the one crying. 

Slowly I pulled out his shirt. Then kissed the chest I had slept on. My nose sliding over the hair that had tickled me. Holding his hip firmly, I kissed his waist. He let it be. As if he trusted me with making the world disappear. As if he thought that I was the only person in the world that could. 

Maybe I was. 

I pulled his underwear down and caressed his thigh until I touched his hip again. He moaned as if he were to cry. My fingers softly touched his dick. Shamelessly studying. It was darker than expected, bigger too. I let my thumb slide over the top. 

He breathed hoarsely. 

When I took him into my mouth his hand found my hair almost right away. He threw his head back. Looked away. Looked at me again. Panicked and then moaned. With that moan he let himself go. He gave himself to me. As if he’d accept anything I’d do to him, even if I had killed him that second, he wouldn’t have fought me. 

I would make the would disappear. 

I licked his top, let my hands slide over his dick carefully. Softly, then roughly. He let out a cry. 

Marco was the most beautiful in that second. I had seen him in beautiful moments. When he was sleeping. When he seemed to have no fears. When he danced to black soul. When he cooked. None of those were as beautiful as him moaning because of my hands. My love. 

It was love, I realised. 

I didn’t want to feel good, have him take me. All I cared about was that he felt good. That I was able and allowed to touch him. It was my first time having sex without a completely egoistic motive. Love. Maybe. Perhaps. 

It sounded weird in my mind. 

I let the thought fade away. 

“Ah, Jean” He breathed. Warmth hitting my lips. I licked him softly. Grabbed his body roughly. Let him grab my hair. Letting him cry into the open air. Letting myself go on this beautiful man. This coloured man.

I swallowed and then kissed his hip and his belly. “Jean” he whispered again. Though it sounded nothing like a goodbye now. It sounded like a thank you. It sounded like a name that made him feel comfortable. It sounded as if he wanted me close. 

I got up to drink some water and then handed him a towel. “You want some water?”  Marco shook his head and reached for his underwear. “Tea? Somethi-”

“No. Jean.” I fell into silence. His harsh voice was like a kick into my stomach. My mouth dry from his sperm. Even with an empty mind I managed to wonder if he hated me. He softened his voice “I want you to come lay here”

So I did. Finally breathing again. My body still shivering because I had never felt so afraid of hurting someone and having someone hate me.  

Marco couldn’t stay with me forever, I had to remind myself before putting my arms around him. Marco wasn’t allowed to love a rich white man,  I told myself when Marco pulled me closer and let his face rest on the top of my head. 

I wonder if he cried. 

We fell asleep while holding each other like the day before. Or at least, I fell asleep with Marco holding me. 

When I woke up Marco was gone. At first I thought that he had never been there. Still lost in the dream I had had before waking. It took me less than a minute to realise that Marco, indeed, had been laying on the spot next to me. 

My first thing to do was staring at the spot for a while, because I didn’t know what else to do, but eventually I stood up to wander around the house. He wasn’t in the bathroom. So I wandered downstairs. The clock saying that it was half past four, my eyes thick and tired. 

When I walked into the living room I saw him almost right away. He was sitting in front on the fireplace that had a small statuette of jesus, which I had put aside, standing on top of it again. On his knees. His eyes closed and his hands in a pray hold. 

It was a painful sight. 

He was praying me away. Me, his sins and his reason for going to hell. Me, the thing that had done him from. He was begging for forgiveness because of me. What I had called love. What he had seen as an escape. 

I knew it was his nature too. He was queer. The touches he gave me were not empty touches of someone that was pretending. 

He praying himself away. Him.. the queer half-blood bastard child. 

With that thought I turned and walked up the stairs again. The only thing I could do was pray that he wouldn’t be capable of praying his own nature away. Praying to a God that wasn’t mine. That wasn’t real. 

 


	10. From lover to thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean checks up on Marco who is now working for his parents.   
> They become boyfriends too.

September 1954

 

I had gotten older fast. I had gotten softer. Waking up next to Marco rarely happened, when I woke up Marco was already in the kitchen. He fell asleep next to me in the evening, quite often. I believe that if he had had the energy to stay up to make sure I couldn’t watch him sleep he would have. Luckily, he always fell asleep right after coming in. I would ask him how his day had been, how Mr. Wilson was and what he thought about not living at home anymore. His answers were always short. That was okay. The stories he told when I had asked nothing were always amazing.

My favourite day, and the day he seemed closer than he had ever been before, was when I had bought him a bookcase and at least one hundred books to fill it. He came home around midnight, walked in with a soft smile and I had whispered to him ‘I got you something, come with me’. He had spluttered and stuttered, making me laugh. I took his hand. I did. This often made me more nervous than kissing him. It was so soft and innocent. I had a hard time with soft love back then. Still do sometimes. That night he kissed me in the middle of a room, without me hinting or asking for it. He grinned after kissing me. He had never done that before.   
He didn’t go to bed with me though. He sat in that room, under a small light, and he read the first sentences, paragraphs and books. The next morning he, with bags under his eyes, told me which ones he loved most. He talked for hours about what he had read, softly and thoughtful. Smart.  In that second I loved him most. That was the first time I had completely seen the Marco I knew he could be. When he was finished talking I told him I loved him. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’  I chuckled and pushed up my shoulders. I knew why I had said it, of course. His eyes gave away that he did too. Secretly. ‘Thank you.. Thank you very much Jean’. I wondered if he wanted to tell me if he loved me too. Maybe him being thankful for my love was enough. In that moment it certainly was. 

Marco had stopped working for the white family he worked for on saturday mornings because I had promised he could start working for my family more, and that we would treat him better (he knew my mother anyway, right?). He now mowed the lawn, watered plants and got paid more than double, once every two weeks. This gave him one free morning to study while I was at work at the office I had started working. The work was hard, the pay was good and the coffee was perfect. The only thing off was that I had had a reputation before I had started working, and that everyone seemed to think I was the most promising lawyer with no other explanations than: my university or my father. Kirschtein right? Right. I had almost forgotten my name, thanks for telling me before you tell me who you are. 

The office was the way I had expected it to be. Coming home to Marco was a break from reality. It was a time where I pushed myself harder than I would or could in any office. 

On saturdays we ate breakfast together. Marco cooked, I think it was so that he had an excuse to wake up before I did, and put the coffee on. We talked about my work. He asked about the black cases. He became more and more interested in black rights. He became - dare I say it?- a little rebelious in his ways, sometimes. “So you say, if they get a case against a black male, they feel like they have time off?” 

“Not necessarily time off, they just spend more time on.. Well the other cases, against white men.”

“Do you.. Do you feel like you have time off if you have a case against a black man?” 

I leaned towards him, he leaned back “My cases are only small, Marco.” Marco sipped his coffee and pushed up his eyebrows. “I do Marco. Because the judges are racist and because the lawyer I’m up against feels like he has lost before we have started. But Darling, Marco, if I were to protect a black male, I’d feel like I had no spare time. Because I wouldn’t have lost already. I’m not just fighting one case.”

While I spoke Marco leaned in and stoked my hands softly. He knew I was right. He was wondering if he’d ever come closer to these cases. I saw it in his eyes. 

We didn’t talk about it. We ate our eggs and went to work. He went to my parents’ house and I went to my office. In the office I gave all the work I had been doing to my mentor and he told me I was excused from the office. This happened quite often on Saturdays, because this was the day I was supposed to have all my work ready. Until I could start doing bigger and important cases, my workday on Saturday was an hour or two. 

Like some of the other Saturday’s I went to visit my mother and inappropriately stare at my (I don’t dare to say partner) love and best friend. Walking down the incredibly big lawn felt unnaturally. Walking through a forest had become so normal, it felt weird realising that it wasn’t. This was normal. A big lawn heading to our white- painted house. An apartment building with 8 stairs. That was what was normal for someone like me. “Jean, darling!” My mum walked up to me in her high heels and hugged me lovingly “Come have some tea! How is your work? Do you like your new apartment, Honey?” 

“I’d prefer coffee” My mother called out to Mrs. Wilson. “The job is fine really, I wish they’d make me work harder”, mum laughed ,”They will when they realise they need me. Anyway the apartment is fine too.” That was a lie. I knew that I had visited the apartment two times. That’d I’d consider finally getting some food if my mother wanted to come over. That apartment would stay empty until then. Or.. well, it would stay empty for as long as Marco was capable of staying with me. As long as he didn’t hate me.  

“Do you have a girlfriend yet?” 

I lit one cigarette and and handed my mother my lighter. “No. Not yet.”   
Thankfully she shut up about it. She changed the subject. She tried to. She didn’t. Without noticing this herself. “Mr. Wilson Junior is such a nice boy, Jean. Lovely of you to give that tip. I highly doubt that we actually need someone to work in the garden as much as he does but oh well.. It’s not like I’m going to do it myself you know?” I nodded and stared at our garden intensely. “He should really take a break, sometime” 

“Right?” Mrs. Wilson put down my coffee and smiled at me. “Thanks” She looked younger than she had done when I had last seen her. She probably knew that Marco was now living with me. He must have told her that he gets to read books, and listen to nice music all day. Maybe he even, proudly, told her that he refuses money that I give him and that he has to work for all he gets. Presents stay presents, and I always tell him that I can’t bring them back to the shop. I don’t think he minds. He just pretends. 

When my mother left for the hairdresser I stayed in the house, telling her that I’d leave in a while. She kissed my cheek and left. 

I walked outside with my tea in my hand. “Marco, you want a drink?”

“No thanks.. Taking breaks here makes me kind of anxious”  

I chuckled “Marco, darling, this is my house too. You should relax”

“Not all your houses are my home, Jean. You’re world is not someone I should get too comfortable with” 

I checked to see if Marco’s mother was not standing in any of the windows, then I took Marco’s cheek into my hand and smiled at him. “I’m glad some of them are. Now please come with me, I’ll show you my old room” 

Marco followed behind me slowly. We passed his mother who was cooking dinner and then we walked up the stairs. I wanted to show him the place where I used to read books, the place where I used to sleep and the place where I kept all the presents I had gotten and kept. I told my mum I would come get them sometime but I never had. 

The first thing I did when we closed the door was pecking Marco’s lips softly. He tensed up. I laughed: “Calm down, Darling” 

“How could I? You are scary” 

My thumb slowly stroked his jawline “Am I now?” I turned away and started going through my stuff. “Take a look at the books and notebooks if you want to. I have not been in 4 years but there might be some things.” 

I opened the drawers of my closets and started looking for the thing I had not given one crap about when it was given to me. The drawers were a goddamn mess. I didn’t even know where I had gotten all the small sculptures and pictures from but I had plenty.    
It was in the second drawer from behind that I finally found what I was looking for. A golden ring that my father had given me when I had turned sixteen. He said that it had been in the family for ages. The father of my mother had given it to him; the father of my grandma had given it to my grandpa; and like that, because my father had no daughter, he had given it to me. “Marco..” Marco turned around, “this is what I wanted to show you”

“Oh that’s.. That’s a beautiful ring. Why did you want to show it to me?”I smiled brightly (cocky too, maybe) and just stared at them like that. “Jean, no” I softly took his face into my hand “Jean, no, please tell me something different than that what I think you’s gonna say.”

I got down to one knee. Held the ring up to him. “Marco bodt, will you-” he panicked and started stuttering. I laughed. “No I’m just kidding”, got up “, but the ring is yours.” I explained to him how the ring had been in the family.  “Now the jokes on them, I still got myself a boyfri- a well, yeah you know.. I- I like boy-” 

“Boyfriend” 

“What?”

“I can do that, I can..” Marco stared out of the window and awkwardly picked his trousers, “not like anything will change if we.. you know.. If we call it that”  

“Really?” I took the hands that were expressing his embarrassment and kissed them softly. “You are beautiful, Marco. I could have never dreamed that I could love someone this beautiful” 

Marco pulled his hands back “Jean. Please don’t lie. I know you don’t think I’m ugly but.. But I’m still a halfblood. I still have this thick hair or.. or these freckles and all my wounds and callouses..  And -”  I softly stroked his nose with mine, he fell into silence. 

“Marco, please shut up. Just listen to me for once. Believe me for once.”  I softly pushed the ring into his hand and kissed his neck and ear softly. “Put it into pocket for now, you can wear it anywhere except from here” 

Marco softly kissed my lips. It send shivers down my spine. “I’ll wear it at home, Jean, all the time. I don’t dare to wear it outside.. Sorry” 

He was so afraid. Still. Sometimes I forgot that he had every right to be afraid. Specially with all the protests for black rights and protests against them. Marco was the living proof that there was separation was not the solution; because black and white coming together made Goddamn miracles.  “It’s okay, I caressed both of his cheeks and stared into his eyes. You’re okay, my.. My sweetheart”

Marco chuckled softly and put his hand over mine, “I can’t believe that you let your whole asshole act go,” I stuttered “I feel special.” Marco put the ring into his pocket and smiled at me. “I better go back to work. I’ll be finished in no time. We shouldn’t leave at the same time”

I walked out and Marco followed behind me. I got myself another cup of coffee while Marco went outside to do whatever it was that he did in that garden all day. I asked Mrs. Wilson how the family was doing and she answered with a story. I liked her doing that. Mrs. Wilson had more spirit than I had ever seen in a woman. She told her stories lively and funny.  “And she don’t shut up ‘bout it ya know. Like she be in the house all day you know, but all the kids go to school now, ain’t no way she never lazy. I bet she sing to my Billy’ record all day, while dancin’ and then I get home and she tell’ me to turn it down. Well she ain’t working all day, she got time enough to dance-”  the front door opened. Mrs. Wilson and I both looked at the clock. No way my mother was back. 

“Jean!” My father's loud voice galmed through the room. “What are you doing there, son?” 

I stood up. “Mrs. Wilson was teaching me how to cook.” 

“No need to know that son. Get someone to do it for you soon.” My father said, now softer. “How’s work?”

“Good, sir.” 

He lit a cigarette and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard very good things about you there from my friend. You know Rob, who works there too.”

“My superior”

My father smiled and handed me a cigarette “Not for long if you keep it up, son.” He was proud. It was written all over his face. He had always found something a little off about me. I had had always been thin, I sat with my legs over each other, I had had very little attention for girls when I was a teenager etc. My father was proud that I was doing a respectable job and that I had not let my feminine side ruin his reputation. 

Is that proud? I guess not.

He was relieved. 

I watched my father’s boney face move subtlety when he breath in his smoke. He had bags under his eyes and was getting more wrinkles with the day. His forehead and cheeks were first. Wrinkles near your eyes and mouths are for people who laugh a lot. 

The door to the garden opened. “Ah, excuse me,” Marco’s voice send shivers down my spine. I was afraid. I was nervous. I had never been so close to both my father, the man who made me great or a failure, and Marco, the man who made me feel great. “I am finished with the garden.” 

My father didn’t like Marco, I knew that. He never wanted to hire an halfblood boy, but my mother had pushed until he gave in. My mother was a strong one when it came to that, I’d give her that. It also helped that my father actually loved her. Still, my father was all about pride. Pride and Marco were two things that, in the eyes of the average, could never go together.  

“Alright, Wilson Jr.” My father took out a few dollars to give to Marco. Marco was nervous, I could see it in his face. He was nervous about meeting my father and about the fact that he had my father’s ring. 

My father noticed Marco’s nervousness too. “Something wrong?”, he asked. 

“C-certainly not, sir” Zero. He had stuttered. 

My father pulled up his eyebrows. “That money not enough for you?”

“That’s not!- that’s not it. Sir. It’s more than enough.” 

“May I check what you have with you?” 

Marco stuttered. I spoke up “Dad, that’s crossing the line. Please stop this nonsense.”

“If he’s got nothing special he has got nothing to be worried about, son.” 

I pushed out my cigarette. My heart was beating in every inch of my body. My head felt numb. I had no solution. Had made no choice about what to protect; Marco or my pride. “You are embarrassing yourself”

“Excuse me? I’d just like to see what the people who get to be in this house have in their pockets. I know your mother and you don’t find that necessary, but I’d do it to anyone.” He was lying. He had seen something in Marco’s eyes that made him. My father was a clever man, really was “Wilson Jr. , you empty your pockets right now or I’ll do it myself.” or he’d call the police, is what he meant. 

Marco, with rilling hands took the money out of his pocket first. My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to cry. He had not wanted the ring for his own safety, but I had promised him he was safe with me. I had promised him that I wouldn’t let anything happen. I had promised him that love was so strong. 

I have made too many promises I couldn’t keep in my life.

A coward shouldn’t make promises.

Marco’s shivering hands slowly tugged the ring out of his pockets. He was fool to do so. He should have lied. No. No. Lying would have made it worse. I don’t know what he should have done. 

He slowly put the ring on the table. 

My father stared at it for what seemed like ages, but nothing and no one moved. 

Until my father shot up and hit Marco in his face. Then he punched him. “You think you can get away with stealing?” My father took Marco’s cheeks as roughly as he could until Marco was looking at him. Marco showed no emotion. This only pissed my father off even more. My father pulled his hair until Marco bend down and then he punched him again. Again, and again. I kept my eyes open. Didn’t move or speak. 

I never stopped hating myself for not moving.  

“Jean, please call the police for me”  I still didn’t move.  “Jean please this is not the time to be rebellious. Give me the fucking phone”

“I’d rather not” I whispered. 

My father’s eyes shot to me. “Give me the fucking phone Jean, or I’ll kill this guy myself” 

Marco’s eyes shot wide. He was no longer looking at his father but at me. His dark eyes were so deep that I could get lost in them forever. His face was red. It would swell.  “Jean..” His voice was so softly that it could barely be heard, but everything felt into silence because of it. 

Marco was begging. Marco was saying that he still trusted me. That he was still willing to say my name out loud. I was still the one he loved. 

Fuck he had become my other half not even an half hour ago. 

“Dad..” I walked up to my father and put my hand over my his. This seemed to calm him for a second. He let go of Marco.  “I gave him the ring.. He didn’t steal it.” 

My father’s eyes widened. His hand hit my cheek before I realised what I was doing. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Dad, I gave it to him. I searched through my own room to get it for him. He hasn’t even come in” 

“You know what the history of that ring is Jean, don’t fuck around, it’s not something you-”  He figured it out that second. He figured everything out in that second. He punched me again. I cried. I was more of an crier than Marco was.  “You’re disgusting.” I knew dad. Don’t think I didn’t know.

“.. I’m sorry” I whispered. 

My father pushed my away. “Leave. Don’t dare to come back anytime soon.” Then he turned to me, pointed his finger at me. “I believe you can change, Jean. You don’t come back until you have a girlfriend. You don’t come back as long as he’s alive.” I swallowed. My savilia was thick. I thought about how Marco was shivering behind me. “And you- you are fired. Don’t dare to come back.” 

Marco nodded calmly but painfully.  I spoke up hesitantly “His mother.. His mother had nothing to do with this. She doesn’t know.” 

My father stared at us for a while, thinking about his answer, but eventually he just threw the ring our way.  “You are no son of mine.” I picked the ring off the ground as fast as I could. “Get out! Fucking get out of my sight before I kill that Goddamn half blood bastard!”

I got on my feet quickly. Marco was struggling with it so I pulled him up with me. My father closed his eyes. He loved me, he had been soft on us. I could see in everything that he went soft on us because he loved me as his son. That only made it hurt even more. 

“Marco.. Come on” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS A LITTLE FAST MAYBE IM SORRY 
> 
>  
> 
> bye 
> 
> please comment cuz no comments make me sad )):


	11. From afraid to not crazy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens wew. Basically Marco gets into black rights and there is some frickle freckling.

 

 **September 1954  
** ON HOW I STARTED LOOKING AROUND ME EVEN MORE

 

Marco was staying away more than before. He had become afraid of me again. He had forgiven me again. When he came home he pushed his nose against my neck and whispered that it would all be fine. I would ask him why he had come home so late and he’d say “same as you.” I didn’t know what that meant, then.

No one at work knew about my relationship with Marco. No one on the streets knew about it. My father had kept quiet. My father cared, in his own damn way. The ring stayed on Marco’s nightstand. It laughed at us as if it was the curse of my family, and we denied that it was because it was our promise. Then again, I would have never denied all the promises Marco and I made were like curses. Every time I kissed his jaw before falling asleep could be another promise to stab us in the back.

 

 

 

 **October 1954**    
ON HOW I KNEW MARCO HAD STOPPED BEING AFRAID

 

We went to an jazz performance late at night. When we were in a small valley Marco took me hand. When there were lights and people he let go of it again. Marco danced. There were a lot of other colored people who seemed to not know about him and all the gossips around him. Free people, I’d call them. Or at least, they were free this evening, because even Marco looked like the most free person in the entire world.  
He took a girl's hands and danced with her through the room.  He moved his hips even more that she did. She held him tightly and looked at him like she was in love. I couldn’t even be mad. I just thought: ‘me too, lady, me too’

I stood by the bar with some whisky in my hand and watched them with a smile on my face. I watched the crowd, just because the crowd was unique. Yes there were mainly black people, but they were laughing and flirting with all kinds of people. It made me feel safe.

“Excuse me, would you care for a dance?” said a lady as she came up to me. Her hair was neatly curled and she was wearing a yellow dress with high heels. Her cheeks colored red, but not because of me, because she had danced so much.

“No, my apologies.”

“Hey, come on, you’ve just been standing here for quite some time now!”

I smirked “So you have studied me?”

“I wouldn’t call it study. I have noticed you.”  She was a nice girl. She had some guts. I remembered the times I would take home girls like this. I remember getting rid of girls like this for ugly and big men.

“I’ll sit this one out, thanks.”

She shrugged and turned her back to me. “Let me know if you change your mind!”

Marco came back after a few minutes. He was breathing loudly and smiling brightly. His face was red and the first two buttons of his blouse were open. You could see a bit of his chest hair. “Hot?”

He laughed “Yeah.”

“Drink?”

“Yes, I’d like a beer.”

I turned my back to him so that I could order. Marco places his hand on my back and stood close to me. I could feel his heat through my jacket and his breath in my neck. His hand slipped down until it was on my hip. With the loud jazz, singing people, and drunks, no one noticed.

It took me that much to realise Marco wasn’t afraid anymore.

“Jean.” He whispered.

“I’d like a beer!” I yelled at the barman, who automatically handed over a bottle.

“Jean.” I turned around to look at Marco. “Dance with me.”

I snorted. “You know me better than that, Marco.”

He took my hand and placed it on his shoulder, then he put his arms around my neck and moved closer to me. “We’ve done it before.”

“People will know.”

He moved even closer to me. His chin and cheek pushed against temple and forehead. He was humming along with the music and the vibrations made my body shiver. I sometimes forgot how much bigger Marco was. How much smoother, and lower his voice was.

“You’re dancing with me.”

 

 

 **_October 1954_  
** ON HOW EREN CAN BE STUPID AND HOPEFUL AT THE SAME TIME

 

_Jean,_

 

_I’m writing you because I’m close. I know all the things you’d call me: dumb, foolish, thick minded, idiot,  stupid, moron,  good for nothing, dreamer, hopeless, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. And I am. I am a dreamer who’d go to foolish extends, you know that._

_I met a lot of Japanese people here. A lot of people who came here came after the American- Japanese relocating. I met someone who knew Mikasa there. She has given me tips about where I could find Mikasa. A few places and spots Mikasa sometimes talked about._

 

_She knew who I was before I had told her._

 

_I hope you and Marco aren’t locked up or dead.  I hope you figured some things out._

 

_Sencirely,_

 

_Your friend Eren._

 

 

 **October 1954  
** ON SOME RESEARCH

 

Early morning Marco sat with a pot of coffee on and a cup of coffee in front of his nose. In front of his nose was laying a newspaper and some bread. His eyes shifted over the pages while he tried to put the bread into his mouth without looking. It was quite a sight. Probably an interesting article too.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading news.” he mumbled.

I walked up to him. My chair, the chair that was next to him, was full of newspapers as well. I threw then on a different table and sat down. I stared at his face while he studied the paper. I could tell he was trying to avoid my eyes. “Don’t you want to have breakfast with me?”

“Of course I do,” he mumbled, “Coffee is right there.” His finger vaguely pointed to where the coffee pot was standing.

“Thanks.” The coffee was just hot enough to warm my hands with without burning them. I put his hands around them tightly, then he put the cup down. Standing behind Marco, I placed his hands on his cheeks. He put his hands over mine again.

“Nice and warm.”  He whispered.

I put my chin on his black thick hair. In front of him was lying an article about the uprising of black people. It was a long piece. The newspaper was one I had not read before. “Interesting.” I whispered into his hair.

“Please let me read this.”

I let go of him and fell into my chair. “Of course. I think it’s nice you’re doing research.”

Marco smiled at me so kindly it made my heart light. I didn’t want to talk anymore, because his smile was so thankful that I had shut up about it. But you know me by now, reader, you must know me. I gave him time. I sipped my coffee. I ate my omelette. At some point I even carassed his legs with my feet and the warm thick socks I was wearing.

“You’ve changed.”

“Jean.”

“I like it.” He looked me into the eyes and frowned. “But you see that-” I pointed at his eyes. “That’s a change I see. You looking at me like that.”

“You wanted this change.”

I smiled. Took my time to dig a cigarette out of my package. “I do.”  I lit my cigarette. “I’m just afraid that I won’t be the death of you.”

“No ones going to die.”

“You want a cigarette too?”

“Jean. I’m not going to die. I’m just looking into my race and their revolution.”

I leaned forward and held my package out to him. “I’m proud of you.” He bit his lip. I gave him the softest look I had. “You want a cigarette?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you marry me?”

“Jean, I-”

“Please give me some more coffee.”

 

 **December 1954  
** ON HOW MR WILSON STARTS ACTING LIKE A  FATHER

 

The Wilson’s shop was doing better, these days. Marco came home sooner, because Mr Wilson had become the one to close up most of the time. Mr Wilson knew about us. No one had told him and no one had to. He knew. He was proud of Marco, of us. Still a little bit cautious over me though.  

“Glad to see you here, Mr Kirschtein.” Mr Wilson studied us from behind the counter. He had been smirking from the second we had come in.

“Call me Jean, Mr Wilson.”

He laughed. “I guess I should!” That took him almost a year, but still it was nice that he’d finally admit it.

“Listen son, I think we should have a chat!”

Not long after I was dragged to sit at the bar. Marco gave me a cup of coffee and Mr Wilson fixed himself a drink too. For a while he just stared at me with his deep brown eyes.

“Jean. Are you sure you are being careful?”

“I am sure.”

“Are you sure that you are sure about this?”

“I am sure about this.”

“What will you do when cops come and put a gun to his head?”

“Shoot the cops.”

“No. You let Marco put his hands above his head, and you say that you’re with him and that he had done nothing.”

“I know.”

“It’s so obvious you’re a flit, you shoud put on some weight.”

“I might.”

“Do you want to give Marco everything he wishes to have?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because what Marco needs is freedom.”

And with that I was allowed to just drink my drinks and chat about how my work was going and what kind of cases I had on  my back. I told him that I had just started doing the real work and that it was going very well. I told him that being apart from Marco was easier now that I worked full time. He told me that he didn’t want to hear romantic stuff like that.

 

 **December 1954  
** ON HOW TO KEEP YOURSELF WARM IN DECEMBER

 

“I love you.”

Marco had a bruise on his face again. After a long fight about who of us would have to die first,  we had decided to shut up about it. Now I was stroking it as soft as I could. Carefully studying the blue and red. Wondering if he’d get into even more trouble if people saw the bruise.

“Don’t be crazy.” He had clenched one of his hands into my shirt.

Marco had been tired. He wanted to sleep. Now we spend our evening just looking at each other. Trying to figure out who we were now that we changed for each other.

“Why the fuck would I be crazy? I have never fucking said that before, ‘s not like I’m joking around.” Marco breath in tightly, moved closer to me, and put his forehead on mine.  “If you’d still have your father I’d ask him if I could have your hand in marriage.”

“Now you are just being crazy.”

“You got me. I would just ask you. Ain’t nobody had anything to do with us.” I let my hand travel from Marco’s bruise to his hair. There I softly pulled and caressed it.  “Sometimes I’m afraid of getting to know you better. Of laying here with you like this. I feel like, if I see even more of your body, every freckle will be a little bit more I’ve got to lose.”

“You can’t lose what you don’t have. Make sure you know all my freckles.”

He laid down on the bed and took some slow breaths. His chest went up and down. His freckles moved silently. I sat down on top him and used one finger to follow the lines of his freckles. When I found a big one I'd kiss it, when I came near his nipple I licked it.   
  
Once I had had his entire belly, Marco pulled his pants down. I grabbed it and pulled it over his feet. His were either wide open or tightly shut. I rarely touched him like this. I had become too careful. I'd rather sleep next to him every day than with him one time. That was scary.  
  
With the same finger I followed the freckles on his legs. There were less freckles there, but more hair to travel through. I started whispering compliments while doing it. I don’t even know what I said. It was like background music, in that moment, to keep our minds off our beating hearts.

When I got to his feet and softly started stroking those. He lifted his hips and pushed his boxer my way. 

“Is that alright?”I whispered.

He nodded.

I moved back up to him and kissed the spot between his cheek and nose. He wrinkled his nose when I did. Then I moved down and his my nose between his tights and balls. From there I started licking his tights and dick. He breath in weirdly, moaned very softly.  

“Marco.”

“Ah, “

“I want to ask you something.” My face was still against his penis. He stared at me, not knowing what to do. He nodded. “Is today a good day. Will you.. Will you take me?”

Marco didn’t answer. His moans fell into silence.  I started sucking his dick silently, just waiting for him. Wanting to make myself better, more attractive to him. Good enough for him.

I got surprised when he pushing his hand into my hair and pulled it softly. He let his head fall and moaned louder. Then he pulled me from his dick by my hair.  “Lie down” he whispered hoarsely. I did. I lied down on my back and shivered as he lifted himself on top of. He was bigger than I was, was so obvious in that moment. I felt like I could hide from the entire world just my clinging to him. He roughly caressed my cheeks, and hair. He pulled it softly.  I put my legs on his shoulders. He kissed the side of my feet.

He moved closer and pushed his licked fingers inside of me, slowly. He didn’t ask me if I was alright. He knew me.

¨Today is good.”

With wide eyes I stared at him. I didn’t know what to fucking tell him, and he didn’t give me time to think about it either. With a sway of the hips he pushed inside of me. First the tip, then he studied my face, and then he went in deeper. His breath was low and his eyes were hazy.  

He moved slowly, one, two, three times, and then he stopped.  He stared at my body lying under him. “I love you too.”

His body moved again. Pushing inside of me. He started moaning harder than I had heard him do. I felt warm. I let my hands caress every little bit of his body. They slipped over his shoulders and belly, through his sweat. I licked his neck. He pulled my hair again.

“Jean” he moaned.

I wanted to cry.

“My Jean.”

I moaned. Tried to move closer to him. Moving my hips with him. Biting his shoulder. Whispering words that he probably didn’t understand. Trying to watch him with my vision getting blurry.

“Marco!”

I felt him get thicker. He moaned loudly. Then he fell down a bit. His eyes closed. Breathing heavily. He kissed my neck a thousand times, still not moving.  I caressed his hair and hushed him, even though there was no reason to.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“Why? I- I- that was-”

“No reason. I don’t know why I said that.” He whispered. “Just a feeling.”

“Alright, Marco, just.. Please don’t feel like that.”  

He got off me.  “I’ll get you a towel and some water.”

“Please.”  
  
When he came back he was still hot. He placed his hand on my cheek and sat down next to me. I was cold by now. He seemed a little shocked that I could have gotten cold so fast. Let his hands slide from my cheek to my hip. Then he stood up. The room was freezing cold. I was laying on all three of our comforters. I didn't want to stand. Marco didn't seem to feel like he wanted to pull one out from beneath me either. 

Eventually he put his brown sweater on top of me.  “A perfect sight." 

A silence fell over the room. Marco sat down on the bed and started stroking my hair. He seemed peaceful. My mind was about to explode. I focused on his touch as much as I could. 

“I’m not being crazy.” I whispered eventually. Then I turned with my back to Marco.  “This can’t just fucking be me being crazy. This is real.”

Marco let himself slide down until he was laying next to me. His belly touching my back and his lips on the back of my head. “I know, Jean.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment what you think!


	12. Father and a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's father comes around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> I just saw that the last time I updated was 6 fucking months ago. I'm sorry. Sometimes I'm so busy that I don't notice that I haven't updated in that long. This doesn't mean I abandoned the fic. 
> 
> This is a very short chapter, because it came easy and I just wanted to update with something.  
> I will update more (might be shorter chapters like this one).
> 
> Thank you!

**NOVERMBER 1954**

 

“Jean Kirschtein?"

I was looking into some documents when they called my name. I finished the sentence I was reading and then gave some kind of noise to let them know I was listening.

“Someone waiting for you downstairs, in the lobby.”

“Did you get their name? I’m kind of busy here.” And no one would just come to see me. I had no wife, my lover would never come to see me, my best friends were traveling to search for love, my family hated me, my lovers family was.. well.. black.

“It’s your father.”I looked up. Staring into the girl’s eyes. “Something wrong?”

It had to be bad if she was noticing too. My father hadn’t spoken to me in weeks, of course I was shocked. Now one could notice that, though. Having everyone know my father was breaking off with me would be my end.  “I’ll be right there.” I mumbled. The girl nodded.

I pushed the documents into my bag and snatched my cigarettes off the table. Some of the guys stared into my back as I walked out of the office calmly, some were too concentrated.

Sure enough, my father was sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby, smoking a cigarette. The secretary offered him some coffee and he declined. Good to know. He wasn’t planning on staying too long.   
I breath in deeply before pushing against the door.  

“Jean.” my father said calmly at the sight of me walking towards him.

“What brings you here, sir?”  Play it safe, Jean.  He knows about Marco. Don’t take one wrong step.

“Shall we go for a walk?”

I bit my lip. “I’m quite busy actually, so if you wanted to talk about something we can do it here. We have good coffee, really.”

“I’m not here for coffee, Jean, I’m here to talk.”

“So let’s talk-”

“Jean.” my father said stern. He said my name a lot. He was being serious. His eyes were burning into me. There was a frown on his face. Showing emotions like this was nothing like him. “I think this is not a matter we could discuss at your workplace.”

I swallowed. So he really wanted to talk.  “I’ll go get my coat.”

I hurried through the building. Took my coat and my scarf as fast as I could. It was cold outside. I looked at all the people I worked with as if they could see how I was living now that my father was here. As if they knew about Marco now that my father knew.

When I came back my father was already standing with his coat on. He had a black hat on his head and a coat in the same color of his shoes. The secretary asked if she could do anything for us, like call a taxi, and my father declined again. My father needed nobody’s help.  

“Let’s go for a walk.”

This time I just nodded, not trying to fight him anymore.

We ended up in a park. The whole way there we had walked in silence. My father was looking straightforward, calm and collected as always. I was looking at him, and around us. People sometimes stared at us. We gave a feeling that we were rich, I guess. Girls took liking to me when they saw me walking like this, with my rich father, coming out of a building where university students worked.  “Nice girls.. All staring at you.” My father mumbled. He had noticed it too.

“I guess.”

“But you don’t care do you?”

“Where do you want to go with this?”

“I just wanted to walk around with no direction.”

I stopped walking. “Father, I mean with this conversation.”

He looked at me, smiled a little. Started walking again, I followed. “Just want to know how you are doing these days.”

“Are you sure?” I asked sarcastically.

My father made my sarcasm nothing by saying “I’m sure.” in the most genuine voice.

“Oh.” We walked for a bit in silence. My father looked around. I followed his gaze. There were kids running around. Their mothers were sitting on benches near the playing fields, laughing together. I felt the cold wind on my temples.  “In that case;  no I don’t care about that.”

“Are you.. Are you having unnatural thoughts about boys?”

“Unnatural thoughts.” I repeated. He stayed silent. “You want to know if I’m queer.”

“Yes.”

“I thought we had pretty much established that last time I saw you. Not to mention you have probably knows since.. I don’t know.. my whole life.”

“Jean.”

“What?”

My father stopped walking and stared at me. “Yes, I had always had a feeling that you were different. You were never a tough kid. You were never like me when I was younger. I could see that you were softer, and that you moved girly, and that you were never ever interested in girls. I just wished.. I wished it would change someday. That you would get married and realise you do love a girl.”

“It’s not going to happen. That’s not how it works.”

“You don’t think you could like a girl?”

“No, and I’m not going to love anyone other tha-” I fell into silence. My father stared at me intensely.

“Go on.”

“I think we could better change subject.”

“I said go on. I want to know about it.”

“Why would I tell you about it!? You want me with a woman so bad. I don’t think it’s a good fucking idea to admit the truth to you.”

“Jean, I’m not going to hurt you. I am your father.”

I turned to look at my father. Our faces inches away. My father’s eyes widened. There was something there that was strong enough to win this. Marco had put that thing inside of me. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“You’re worried about that kid- Wilson junior.”

“He’s not a kid.”

“He’s your lover.”

“He’s my boyfriend.” My father fell into silence at the word boyfriend for a bit. He thought about the word that he probably found disgusting out of my mouth. “And if it had been fucking legal he would have been my husband.”

“Jean-”

“No. I chose to live my life like this, and whatever you’re going to say about him being halfblood, or about his father leaving, or about him being african, or about him being poor, or about his family, is going to stay fucking silent.”

“Jean-” I shut up for a second. “His name was Marco, right?” My father started walking again. He said every single word of his sentence carefully. “The boy you gave our ring. The ring that you should have given to the girl you were going to marry.” I nodded. “You must have thought about it a lot.”

“There’s not a day that I don’t think about how this is going to kill us.”

My father swallowed. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“You wouldn’t?”

My father chuckled. “Of course not. You’re my son.”

“How long did you have to think about wether was still your son or not?”

He sighed. “A while.”

We walked in silence for a bit. The sky was becoming greyer. We decided that it was going to rain soon. I suggested we’d leave, my father suggested to drink some coffee. He had more to talk about. I was too shocked to say no to him.

No. Not shocked. Thankful. Surprised.

We walked into an expensive restaurant and ordered coffee only. The girl who served us was smiling brightly. She had blonde curls that she had forced into a big bun.

“So, Marco.”

“You don’t have to force yourself-”

“How did you meet him?”

“In a cafe that his uncle runs. I used to eat sandwiched there. I spoke to Marco to.. I don’t know.. Learn about mixed races, for fun, for my own material to think and write about.”

“But he never went to school?”

“No. His mother taught him to read through the bible. And I started giving him books when I went there.”

“I don’t understand you, sometimes.”

“It’s a sense of justice, dad.”

I grinned. My father stared at me. “Maybe it is.”

We talked about Marco. I told my father, vaguely, how we were living now. Told him that he still couldn’t come to see us. Told him how I got the house from Eren, who had left, then told him how Eren was doing.

“I hope that you know that you are lucky now, but that you will never live a normal life. Every parent wished to give his son a good and normal life. I find it hard to accept.”

“I know. It’s worth it. Believe me. I knew what I was going to give up. Honestly, I was prepared to never see you and mother again.”

“How can.. How can someone be worth so much? Jean.”

“Dad.. I- uh- you should have seen him smile. You should have a good conversation with him. You’ve never seen him wake-up, and never tasted the breakfast he makes, or the coffee that waits for me when I come in.  I can’t explain it but, it’s worth all of the pain. It’s worth giving everything up for.”

“Alright.”

“What?”

“I can’t change this. Look at your face, my son, you’re so in love.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

  


When my father had left I decided not to head back to work. I stood still in front of the restaurant and stared at the people walking by. Reminded myself that I had to buy gloves. That the cold was going to hit hard this year. I could already see my breath.

As soon as I felt like my legs could work again I stopped a taxi and let myself be dropped off in the WIlson’s neighborhood. From there I walked to the cafe.

The bell was familiar when I walked in. It reminded me of how long I hadn’t been there. Now that I saw Marco at home (and honestly, now that I wasn’t bored all the time) I didn’t have a reason to come here as much. I had missed the damn sandwiches though.

I saw Marco walking through the shop with a full plate. He was smiling. That was good to see. He was my happiness. I had been worrying about whether he still smiled as much, now that he was together with me.

“Mr. Kirschtein.” Mr. Wilson said when he saw me.

I saw Marco look my way. He had surprised eyes but a calm smile. I wanted to tell my story right away. Stay calm Jean; my mantra.  “Say Jean.”

“Too much to get used to, son.”

I chuckled.  “S’ Marco very busy?”

“No, you can steal’m for a bit”

I walked up to Marco, nodded my head and then walked to the back. Marco understood. He put down his last two plates and then walked after me to the small working room. We had once sat here, side by side, just trying to know each other. Trying not to fight. Trying to teach each other a little bit of each other’s world.

Marco closed the door behind him carefully, stood against it.

“What brings you here, Jean?” My baby. It felt weird seeing him outside of our home. His fingers long, and so damn war away. His eyes bright and lively.

I kissed him. I could have waited until we were home, played it safe, but I didn’t want to anymore. With my father’s support I felt invincible.  So I kissed Marco hard, with my hand in his hair and my tongue traveling his lips.

Marco didn’t even seem faced. He kissed me back softly. He smiled.

When I pulled back he held my face close. I felt small under his gaze.  “When you get home, I want you to wear your ring?”

“You know I can’t, sweetheart.”

“Yes. Yeah you can. From now on you’re going to wear it every day.”

“What’s going on?” He was still smiling, still trusting me.

I came a little bit closer. Pushed my forehead against his freckled one. “I talked with my father. Well- no- my father talked to me.”  he pecked my lips, “He asked about you, had thought about it a lot. About me being.. queer. About you being black.. Brown.”

Marco swallowed, pulled back a little. “And?”

“He came to the conclusion that, basically, that I am still his son.”

Marco smiled brightly. “That’s amazing.”

“I- I hadn’t expected that. Fuck. I always thought he, he hated the fact I was gay but now.. Now that I have you he noticed that I wasn’t going to change. Together with you I stand stronger. He noticed that I now love enough to.. never fake being straight, or fake being in love with a girl. He noticed that I care too much about you, to have him change me.”

Marco pulled me into his arms and held me softly. His big hands stroking my hair. He kissed the top of my head softly. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m happy. He wanted to know you. What kind of person you were. He respected you as.. as my partner.”

“I’m so glad.”

“I’d marry you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Marry me?”

“I would.”


	13. From cold to embraceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Christmas, it's been cold as hell, it has snowed (in the Netherlands) and so it's time for a cold Christmassy chapter. In this chapter everyone is happy and there's some frickle freckling. 
> 
> (Angst will come. Just not today)

**DECEMBER 1954**

“Jean!”

I woke up when Marco walked in. It was still dark outside, and it was way too early for me to get up. Marco usually woke up before me. He made breakfast and coffee before I even had to worry about getting up. 

“What’s wrong?” My voice sounded weak and tired. My head hurt because of the fact I had to get up when it was still dark out. “Did something happen?” I pushed my feet out of the bed and tried to look at Marco with my squinted eyes. 

Marco looked worried. “I’m sorry that I woke you.” he mumbled quickly. I shook my head and stood up. Marco’s worried look was swept off his face. “Jean.. it’s just that.. It’s snowing.”

“What?”

“I got excited. Haven’t seen this much snow since I was younger. I’m just-” 

I put one arm around Marco’s neck and pushed my face against his softly. “That’s what you woke me for?” I felt Marco nodding against me. I smiled. “Good. I’m glad you can share a memory like this with me.” 

Marco handed me my bathrobe and then turned around to walk towards the kitchen. I followed him tiredly. He was like a little kid. It seemed as if he didn’t want to show me how excited he was, but it was obvious that he was. 

The light outside of our house was indeed  showing snow falling on the ground. The snow fell softly, there was no snow storm but it still felt as if nothing could stop the snow from falling. It just fell, and kept falling.  Marco was staring at it intensely. 

“With snow I always feel like it will be gone if I look away for one second.” I stroked his hair while he watched the sky.  

“I feel like I’m stuck in time, like it will be here forever.”  

With that I walked into the kitchen and got two cups of coffee. The coffee was already warm, which showed that Marco hadn’t noticed the snow at first. Once I had gotten two full cups I walked back to Marco, who was standing against the window, and handed it to him. He held it with both hands. Blew on it, and let the steam hit his face. 

“You want to go outside?” 

I looked at Marco. This boy was insane, sometimes. “Do you?” 

He awkwardly looked out of the window again. “That’s kind of weird isn’t it?”  He looked so damn disappointed. His hands played with the cup he was holding. He smiled fakely. 

And so I threw one of the blankets we had laying on the couch on top of him, took another one for myself, and turned around. “Let’s go.” 

We were both wearing slippers and pyjamas, but that didn’t bother either one of us. I just took the keys, my coffee, and walked outside with Marco. And Marco, fuck Marco, Marco was glowing. He was smiling so brightly when he looked up at the sky. 

He held out his hands. “It’s not even that cold.” 

“I think you’re broken,”I said, shivering.  

He laughed and put his coffee on our outdoor table. Then he put his arms, and blanket, around me and started rubbing my arms and back. “I’ll warm you.”

“You are making me stand in the snow.” I mumbled. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” he stood like that, with his arms around me. I stared at his freckles, his dark brown eyes, his laughing wrinkles. “I think you might just like me.”

I smirked. “I might.” 

His hair was slowly becoming white because of all the snow. There was some snow that landed on his face and melted right away. He let his hand go through my hair. I noticed then that my hair was wet too.  

“You’re not even watching the snow anymore.” I mumbled. “If you’re planning on watching me, we could just get inside.” 

He grinned. “Alright.” It was cold when his arms left my body, and when I couldn't feel his breath on me anymore. He picked up his coffee and then he followed me inside. His coffee had gotten cold. That was alright.  I put it away and pulled him on the couch with me.

“Warm me.” I said. 

He put his bigger body on top of me. The blanket was still wrapped around him tightly. He leaned in and put his lips against my ear. He breath in and out. When his warm breath hit my ears it felt as if they were burning. He send shivers through my belly to my heart. I moaned softly and leaned in so that he could touch me easier. When I did he licked my ear, took it into his mouth. With his hands he was holding the other side of my head carefully.  “That warm?” he whispered softly. 

I moaned as a reply. He breath and licked into my neck, up to my chin, and then he kissed me strongly. He made me weak. He didn’t take the lead often. I was melting in his hands.  I moved even closer to him, trying to kiss him deeper, and concentrated on the way he held me tightly. I could try to fall apart at that moment, but Marco would hold me together just fine. He was capable of doing that. He was capable of holding me together when there was barely anything left of me.  

 

I had always hated christmas. I had hated sitting on the long table with distant family, who were all judging each other. I had hated having family who would gossip about each other once they got home. When my mum would start decorating I would start complaining about the smell of the christmas tree, and about all the lights. My mum tried her best, really. I can’t deny that christmas trees smell goddamn good. 

Seeing how happy Marco had gotten about the snow had really done something to me. I don’t know. Thought about it the entire day at work. I had to restrain myself from stepping into my damn car, picking Marco up from his work, driving home, and holding him the entire day. You can’t even imagine how hard it had been to get off the couch to get dressed in a suit that day. 

What had changed, I don’t really know either, but it had me driving to my parents house after work. My mother was surprised to see me when I walked into the house. “Jean!” she yelled. “Hey baby. You came to have some dinner?” 

“No, I’m going to eat by myself today.” 

“Alright.” 

“I was wondering if you had some christmas decoration. I’m thinking about getting a christmas tree this year.” 

My mother smiled brightly. “I thought you always hated that! Sometimes I think that you do have a girlfriend, with the way you’re changing lately. You haven’t been around much either.” 

“Just think it’s kind of boring and bleak, mum.” 

She turned around and started walking upstairs. “Alright, alright sweetheart. If you say so.”  I followed behind her. She opened up one of the old closets upstairs and took three boxes with christmas decoration out. She handed two of them to me and held one of them herself. “We have way too much anyway! Your father keeps saying that I can’t buy new ones, because we have all of these, but that would get so boring! I’m not going to be using the same decoration every year. He thinks so little of me sometimes.” 

“I bet he doesn’t.”

“Oh well. That’s the reason we have all these boxes. These are still good, but I’m not going to use them anymore. Your father told me to throw them out, but now you see that my idea was a better one. I wouldn’t have wanted you to have to buy your own decoration after such a long day of work!” 

“Thank you, mum.” She walked with me to my car and places the box on my passenger seat.  Then she kissed my cheek and smiled happily. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“Of course, mum.” 

After that I drove to one of the shops that sold christmas trees and bought one of those, pushed it into the back of my car, and drove home. I wanted to laugh at myself. Look at me, trying to make someone else happy. Getting out of my way to do anything to see Marco smile like that. 

 

It was late when Marco got home. Mr. Wilson had been trying to send him home sooner, but he often didn’t manage to. He would deny that he wanted to help Marco with seeing me more, but it was obvious. I had set up the christmas tree and put the lights in. I had left all the decorations out, because I thought that Marco would like to help me. I didn’t know if Marco had had a christmas tree growing up, if he even liked it, so I wanted him to experience all of it. 

“Jean?” He called my name when he saw that there was still some light on. I stood up too quick. I basically jumped up, actually. When he opened the door to the living room he stood still and stared at me, or the tree, or both. I smiled at him. We were still for a while, until I noticed his red nose and cheeks. 

“Are you cold?” 

He smiled. “It’s nothing.” I walked up to him and grabbed his hands with mine. He was feeling ice cold. He didn’t seem surprised by my sudden touch. That was nice. “You’re warm” 

“Wear gloves next time.” I mumbled.

He nodded, looking at our hands. He seemed happy. It made me damn light to see him smile that kindly. I wanted him, or us, the way we were half a years ago to see us like this. Warming each other’s hands, living together, being like a family and a couple. It was insane. It was too good to be true, and that’s what made it scary. It was too good to be true. I don’t know what made me deserve this. 

“You bought a christmas tree?” He looked up. 

“Yeah.. and uh.. and decoration and stuff. Never done this before so I hope I did it alright.” 

He smiled. “I wouldn’t know either, so I guess we’ll have to figure it out together.” 

So he hadn’t. “I saved the decoration so we could do that together tomorrow.” 

He pulled his hands away from mine and placed it on my cheek. He was still cold. I ignored it. Softly I pushed my cheek against his hand more, closing my eyes. 

He pulled away, then. 

I opened my eyes quickly, afraid something was wrong. He looked guilty, or shocked. Maybe I worried too much.  “Marco, what’s wrong?” 

I took one of his hands again, afraid he’d be too far away too quickly again. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” Maybe he looked afraid. “I- I was wondering if you could help me. Actually I don’t like asking you things like this but I- I really want to buy my mother a present this christmas. I hoped that you would want to help me buy one. I mean.. Like- I can’t afford-” I smiled. “What?”

“Nothing, I just thought something bad had happened and that wasn’t the case.” 

“Oh.”

“Sorry I get scared easily, because of you.” I pushed my nose against his cheek. “But I’d love to help you buy a present. If you feel guilty about me helping you you can just see it as a present from both of us. Don’t worry. I’m thankful too.”

He stroked my hair. “Thank you, Jean. You know.. You’re pretty sweet.” 

“Don’t let that get out, you’ll ruin my reputation.” 

“Jean.. I will ruin your reputation anyway.” 

“I know.”  I kissed him. “I knew that since I started this. Don’t ever worry.”

“You’re scary.” 

“Really now? A second ago I was sweet.”

“You can be both.”

“You’re scary. You make me want to treat you right.” I kissed his neck. “I have it really, really bad for you.”  I unbuttoned his shirt slowly. He shivered at my touch. My hands had gotten cold because of him. “Never thought I’d do shit like this.”  

He let his shirt fall off his shoulders. I pulled off my sweater. His hands traveled from my armpit to my hips. “It’s cold here.” He whispered. His finger stroking my goosebumps. 

“It’s fine, warm me.” 

His hands traveled up to my neck and jaw, and he held it carefully and strongly. He stared at my face, studied my expression when he did so. I could only imagine what I looked like; satisfied, surprised, pleasured.  I don’t know what came over him. He seemed confident. Maybe it was experience, or the fact that he knew my body by now.  “Warm you?” 

I opened my mouth and licked his fingers. “Take me.” 

“You want that?” 

“I’m yours.” 

His reaction to that was so damn sweet. He smiled satisfied, and then he gently pushed his fingers into my mouth and his lips to my ear. He didn’t say anything, but he breath like he wanted to. I shivered, licked his fingers. His hard on was pushing against my hip. 

I said that I loved him, but my words disapeared with his fingers in my mouth. 

He took his fingers out of my mouth and turned me around slowly. He pushed himself against my ass, pushing me over the prop of the couch.  I moaned. I pushed my hips back. Anything so that he would know that I loved everything he did. So that he would not feel guilty like he often did. 

He pushed my pants down and spat on my ass. Then he slowly pushed in one finger and kissed my back. I moaned loudly for him to take me. He didn’t. He pushed in another finger. Carefully and slowly he fingered my. I pushed my ass up more and more, stood on my toes so that he could reach as deep as possible. Bended my back. 

“Marco..” I complained. He let out a satisfied breath, a laugh almost. His hand grabbed my hip tightly. He had never held me that tight, that rough, and it felt amazing. It felt amazing because with a grip like that, I believed he would never let me go. Like nothing could make him loose grip. 

“Jean.” His dick touched my ass slightly. I pushed my hips back a little. He pushed forward. I cried out. My hands held the couch tightly, but I knew Marco would keep me upright. He pushed inside of me. His hands stroked my hips, then my neck, and the held my hair.  “Do you-” he could barely talk. 

“Fuck yes.” This was not the time to be getting insecure. 

I tilted my head back so he could hold me tighter. He did. He put his arms around me and pulled me towards him while pushing in and outside me faster and faster. His hands roamed round me. He pushed his fingers into my mouth and on my nipples. He pushed inside of me so hard. It hurt. I didn’t want to stop him. It felt amazing. He could ruin me for all I cared. This man was going to be my last. He could have every bit of me, and do whatever he wanted with it. 

“Marco!” He grabbed both of my hips and pushed himself inside of me roughly and slowly. He moaned. His moan was a little louder than usual. I felt his dick get bigger as he came inside of me.  

He leaned on my body for a bit. Breathing heavily. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. 

“Don’t be stupid. Of course.”

“I’m sorry for-” 

“That was amazing. Now get off me so I can kiss you.”  

And he did. He did, I kissed him, and then we walked to the shower together, him holding me up, because walking had gotten harder. We were both still wearing our shoes. His pants were half on. It was proof that this was the first time he couldn’t hold back at all. 

He squatted and undid my shoes. Before getting up he kissed my hip. After that he got undressed himself and walked with me into the shower. The shower was big enough for two. We had never shower together. 

I noticed that he got self conscious. It’s true that I had never gotten the chance to look at his body like this. This situation made it so easy to look at each other. “Turn around.” He whispered. 

I did. My hair getting drenched. The water warm. His front now against my back. I felt him move, and then I felt soap on my back. He was washing me. He soaped me in, and then he moved his soft and warm hands from my neck, to my armpits, to my ass. He also washed my hair, just as careful. I had never felt anything that sweet. I don’t know why it was. Maybe because his hands were so soft with soap on them, or maybe because washing someone is the ultimate way of taking care of someone. 

I turned around. Marco was looking shy, surprised. “Shall I wash you too? It- It feels pretty good.”  

 

In the morning we got up later than usual, it was sunday. Marco prayed when he got up. This time, for the first time, it didn’t seem like he way praying away his sins. It just felt he had accepted that him believing in God, and him being with me was something that he could combine. When he was finished he got me coffee and eggs. We ate together. He read the news. I listened to music. The snow outside hadn’t moved one bit. If anything it was now more than yesterday. I watched it through the window. I had never really cared for snow or any weather at that. I think Marco knew that. He seemed satisfied by having me enjoy it a little bit more.  

“Anything interesting.” 

Marco sighed and put the yesterday's paper away.   “A lot of awful things again.” 

I drank all me coffee at once, and then stood up. “Let’s decorate.”

¨I didn’t know you liked decorating so much.” 

I chuckled “Oh I don’t.”  Marco fell silent for a bit.  “I just thought.. You would like it. I like you, so that’s why.”

“I do. Thank you.”

We started picking up all the decorations. Marco decided on the color red. I didn’t even care, trusted him. He picked all the balls that matched with the color he eventually wanted. Had me walking around the tree. Sometimes he would pick me up so I could put decoration higher than we could reach. Marco put the christmas stall under the tree. Found the original meaning behind christmas the most important part. 

I kissed him next to that tree, and while he was staring at that tree, I made him coffee for the first time since I had met him. It didn’t taste as good as his. He told me it was the best coffee he had ever had. 

 

The day at work was long that day. Marco had taken some time off to buy a present for his mother. I had given him extra money to make sure that he could buy her something special. He was thinking about getting her earrings or a necklace. Something she could wear forever. Something that would make her feel like she was a special woman once again. He said that, for the longest time, his mother had felt like a faillure. Like believing that a white and richer man would want her was the biggest mistake she had made, even if that mistake did give her Marco. Marco just wanted to prove that thought wrong. I was more than willing to help him with that. I had come to love the family too. It was crazy, because their culture didn’t seem to match with mine and yet.. it worked to well. 

From the office building I could easily see the entire city getting darker, and then I could see the lights that were lit in the entire city. It was still as cold, but the snow wasn’t falling anymore. I was working on a bigger case, something interesting for once. Helping one of the more famous higher ups, this time. I liked the work I did, but being in love with Marco made it harder. I used to not care about anyone. It didn’t matter who I was protecting, or working against. These days I did care. I started caring more because I could see Marco getting falsely accused of something one day. Luckily, it didn’t take the upper hand. There was just a nagging voice in the back of my head. 

When I walked down to put on my jacket the secretary stopped me. “Mister Kirschtein?”  I glanced back at her and nodded for her to speak on.  “Your father stepped by again. He left packages.” 

My face heated up. I had not expected my father to get like this. I had prepared myself to hate m father forever but.. It wouldn’t happen like this. I couldn’t hate him.  “Please give them to me.” 

She got the two packages from the back. “There is one for you and one for another man.” She must have seen my surprised face because she went on talking. “Marco?” 

“I-” didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t look two surprised. Not as fucking surprised as I was, at least. “He’s my best friend. Our families have known each other for the longest time.” 

“Oh.. that’s nice.” I took the packages from her hands. They were wrapped up in christmas paper. On one of them there was my name and on the other stood, with big letters ‘Marco’.  “What does he do?”

“Hm?” 

“Your friend.” 

“He- he teaches history and philosophy.” Because that’s what he could have done. That’s what he could have done if only someone had given him a chance. If he had studied even a little, if they had given him one chance to go to college. He could have been a teacher by now, a darn good one at that. 

On the way home I thought about my father. About asking him about the presents. I just couldn’t figure out what I would say. Thank you? What the hell is your problem? Since when do you give a fuck? Marco doesn’t like taking presents because he’ll feel like he has stolen it? I’m so glad that you care about me?  I couldn’t say anything, and so I drove home right away.  When I got home I worked until midnight, until Marco came home, and when he came home I felt my entire being get warmer. It’s crazy what another person can do to you. 

“You waited for me?” The cigarettes pushed out in the ashtray, in the same damn spot made it obvious. I had drank five cups of coffee. 

“I have something for you.” 

“Jean, this is too much-” 

“I didn’t buy anything. My father dropped of two presents at my work, when I wasn’t in. One of them just- kind of- has your name on it. So I thought it would only be fair to open it together.” 

“Oh,” Marco looked at the present in his hands. “Your father thought about me? I was already thankful that he didn’t want to kill me anymore.” he whispered. 

I kissed Marco’s head. “Marco, I will let no one hurt you again. I won’t even stop spoiling you.” 

I started opening up my present, ripping the paper off. Inside of it was a very dark blue, classic tie. It had a very simple patern in the shade of blue.  Then I watched Marco’s hands starting to unpack too. He had watched me first, his hands were now shivering. Inside of the paper was a box like mine, only now there was a red tie inside. They looked alike, were from the same designer. I reconized the shore as a very expensive store that mainly had measured suits. I had gotten my best suits for work there. 

“Oh,” Marco whispered. I didn’t know what he meant. I could understand his shock, though. 

‘We can match.”    
“I can’t wear this.. Everyone will know I didn’t buy it myself.” 

I stepped closer to him, snuggled my nose against his cheek. “Wear it when you go celebrate christmas at your family’s house tomorrow. Give your mother her present while you’re looking so damn good.” I kissed him. “She’ll be so proud.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!


	14. From the kitchen counter to a suitcase.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SADNESS BUT NOT TOO MUCH SADNESS BUT MORE SADNESS THAN BEFORE YEH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! In this chapter I use a famous speech http://www.blackpast.org/1953-thurgood-marshall-argument-u-s-supreme-court-brown-v-board-education/ , this speach however, is from 1953 december 8th. I don’t know/think if/that you rould record and relisten speeches like this, but I chose to use it in this chapter anyway, because I wanted to use a real speech. Thank you for accepting that it’s not exactly historically correct! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this!

 

**JANUARY 1955**

 

_ “...  _ _ And it is the exact same argument that has been made to this Court over and over again, and we submit that when they charge us with making a legislative argument, it is in truth they who are making the legislative argument. “ _

I walked towards the kitchen in my night robe. My thick black socks dusty from the floor. Cold hitting my chest. The voice that came from the kitchen was one I didn’t recognize. It was playing rather soft, I hadn’t heard it when I was walking down the stairs. 

As soon as I walked in I saw Marco stare at me, shocked. Then he turned towards the radio and reached for the off button. 

“Keep it playing.” I sat down next to Marco. He filled a cup with coffee and handed it to me. I drank it slowly and stared at Marco while doing so. He looked nervous. 

_ “ -.. From the day this case was filed until this moment, nobody has in any form or fashion, despite the fact I made it clear in the opening argument that I was relying on it, done anything to distinguish this statute from the Black Codes, which they must admit, because nobody can dispute, say anything anybody wants to say, one way or the other, the Fourteenth Amendment was intended to deprive the states of power to enforce Black Codes or anything else like it..” _

_ I reached out for Marco and took his hand, pushed my fingers in between his. He stared at the hands.  _

_ We charge that they are Black Codes. They obviously are Black Codes if you read them. They haven't denied that they are Black Codes, so if the Court wants to very narrowly decide this case, they can decide it on that point. _ _   
_ _ So whichever way it is done-”  _ He pulled his fingers out from between mine and turned the off button.  

“Sorry, it makes me awkward.” 

“Listening to politics with me?” 

‘Black right issues.” 

“Well it sure ain’t the black right issues that make you awkward, it’s the fact that I’m listening to them.” 

“I don’t want to bother you. You don’t have to feel like you play a part in this.” 

I pulled a cigarette out of my pack, threw one over the table towards Marco, and then lit mine. “And I don’t?”    
“No.”

“We all know that’s a lie Marco. Every American plays a part in this discussion, specially me. Whether it’s as a lawyer, or as your partner.” 

Marco took the cigarette from the table, looking away from me. He tried to light the lucifer but failer a few times. Then when it finally worked he carefully held it at the end of his cigarette.  

I took his face and made him look at me. I held him like this when I was going to kiss him, too. Only holding his face made me want to. “If you had been a woman, I would have wanted our child to be treated equal. Not equal like that lie that is told, but really, really equal.”

“I’m not a woman, Jean.”

“I would have wanted you to be treated equal. I wished you’d have had a proper school. You’re a Goddamn genius. You would have been grand.” 

I leaned into my hand “Thank you. You gave me a bit of t-” 

“You are grand! I see that right now. I see that you are, I just wished you would have had more chances to show it.” 

He looked at me like I had said something crazy again. As if I hadn’t been telling him stuff like that for a half year. As if I hadn’t told him he could have been so much more from the day I first met him. I cracked a smile.  “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jean..” After saying my name he fell into silence again. I just smiled at him. 

“Tell me.” He didn’t. 

He stood up and turned on the radio again. Then I walked towards the kitchen counter and started making some breakfast. I looked at his strong, big back. I stared at his ass, his broad shoulders. 

_ “people who were formerly in slavery, regardless of anything else, shall be kept as near that stage as is possible, and now is the time, we submit, that this Court should make it clear that that is not what our Constitution stands for. _

_ Thank you, sir.” _

I had started noticing that he missed me more when he was at work. The more he saw me, the more he missed me, I guess. That felt good. I wouldn’t tell him, because he’d call me cocky, but it felt goddamn nice to have someone show you such a thing. Before I left for work I walked up to him to say goodbye. Lately, and today too, he pulled me close before I could say anything. 

“Leavin’ for work?”

His arms were around my neck, because I was shorter, and I pulled him closer by his hips.  “Yeah.” I whispered.  He kissed me. Snuggled his nose against mine. Let his hands slide through my hair. 

“Bye.”

I kissed him again. “See you tonight.”

“Yeah.” 

And like that I’d walk through the front door. He would leave not long after me. I’d regret leaving the second I walked out of that door. I’d go to work and see the reality of situations. I’d see all the hardship people went through. I’d see how unfair the right system was. I would accept it and just keep working. I wouldn’t see the face of Marco in the black rights fighters I’d have to defend. I wouldn’t think about how Marco was listening to speeches, was coming back later, was reading newspapers had never in my life seen.  

I would just laugh with my colleagues who said that they had already won, when they had a case against someone fighting for black rights.   
When I was with Marco I was living a dream. The wake up call was rough, sometimes, but at least I could go back to dreaming, anytime.

 

 

“Jean Kirschtein?” The secretary called. There was someone for me again. I wondered why it was so damn hard for people to just leave me alone when I was at work.  “A young man for you?” 

“What was his name again?” 

“Jaeger, he said.” 

My heart fell right to the bottom of my stomach. I felt like puking at the sound of his name. He was here. He was back. I know that was supposed to make me happy, but I was the first person he went to see and that was with a reason. 

“I’m coming.” I put the papers I was using into my bag. If this was really Jaeger, I wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. My heart was beating in my throat while I walked to the lobby. And true indeed, when I walked in I saw Jaeger sitting on the black leather couch. He didn’t even look at me when I walked in. I could see how old he had gotten in such a short time though. His skin looked a little rougher, a little darker. His hair had gotten longer. I wondered if he had taken care of himself on his trip. 

“Eren.” When he did turn around though, he smiled so brightly that I wondered if this really was the same Eren. He hadn’t smiled like that since.. Since.. Well since Mikasa was taken away. Yet here he was, smiling goddamn brightly. Finally I understood. I had made a fool of him every time he told me about what Mikasa meant to him. I had called him stupid for getting so depressed about the fact she was gone, I had called him an idiot for going after her. Yet here I was, knowing that I would do the same or more, if Marco would leave. No. If they would take Marco away. 

“Hey, Jean!”

We stared at each other for a while, then eventually, he took a step towards me and embraced me with one arm.  “You stupid idiot. You Goddamn moron.” 

“I got her, man.” 

“I’m happy for you.” 

He pulled back and stared at me. “Did you just say that? Are you ill, Kirschtein?” 

“Shut the fuck up. You act like I don’t you how you feel.” 

Eren fell into silence. The grin was wiped off his face.  “How’s Marco?” 

I smiled, seeing Marco in my mind. Seeing Marco drink his coffee while reading the newspaper. A changed man, that’s what he was. He was pulling all that intellect he had inside out. I was proud of him. I was proud of myself for helping him be the person he could be.  

“Marco’s good. He’s doing pretty amazing. You really helped us.” 

Eren fell into silence. He nodded. Mumbled: “that’s good.” He never seemed to mean it. Or meant he did, but he just couldn’t show it now. 

“Why are you really here, Eren? I can’t imagine you’re leaving Mikasa alone because you’ve missed me so damn much.” 

Eren swallowed and looked at the lady behind the counter. She was pretending not to watch us, and doing nothing else.  

“Let’s go,” I said, walking out of the building, in front of him.

We walked through the busy street in silence. Men in suits with hats passed us. We fitted right in. No one would question our conversation. Business, our wives, how christmas had been. I was the first to speak up. “Where’s Mikasa right now?” 

“At Armin’s.”

“Alright.”

We were silent again. “How is living with Marco?” 

“Just get to the damn point Eren, don’t make me say how living with Marco is right before you’re going to tell me it will end right here.” 

He stopped walking. Stared at me. “We need the house.” 

The words had to sink in for a while, as much as I had expected them. “Okay. I understand.” 

“I’m sorry, Jean. You knew it was temporary from the time you started living there, right?” 

“Yeah.”  It was getting hard to breath. I didn’t know how to tell Marco, who, for the first time in his life, had started acting like he was worth something. 

“I bet you can find something better.  You have got the money.” 

“I’ll lose my job if anyone figures it out.”

“So be it. Become a garbage man for all you’ll care. We’re talking about love here.” 

I swallowed roughly. My throat was closed. Eren was right. There was nothing wrong with what he said yet, it had been so easy until now. It had been so perfect. That house was our home. Yes, it had been Eren’s house from the start, but it had been our home. 

“I’m not taking something from you, Jean. I had just given you something for a while. Don’t look at me like I’m taking something from you.” 

I bit my lip.  “This is going to break Marco.” 

“He’s strong.” 

“You should have seen him, in that house. He danced in the living room like he wouldn’t dare anywhere else. He-” 

“Jean- stop it.” 

I nodded. Then I turned around, heading for my care. “Come with me.”

“Why?” 

“Get in.”

Eren walked with me, as he was told, and got into the car. I started the car without saying a word.

“Where are we going?” Eren asked. 

I didn’t answer him.  I drove towards Mr. Wilson’s shop, a little too hard. I turned off the radio. Eren turned it on again. I turned it off again.    
“Can’t you cheer the fuck up? Doesn’t my return make you a little happy?”

“I’m happy for you, Eren, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad that you did it, without dying even.” I took a sharp turn, slowing down now that I was driving in the smaller streets of Marco’s neighborhood. “But you can’t blame me for thinking about my next step right now. I’m not about to lose my lover over something like this. I’m not planning on pulling a stunt like you.” 

I stopped the car right in front of the shop. I saw Mr. Wilson through the window.

“As if you would.” Eren laughed. 

I looked at him sternly. “I love him,” I just said before getting out of the car. Eren followed me, and I locked the car. Then we walked into the shop.  

I took off my hat. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson.”

“Jean,” He said Jean. He never said Jean. It was always Mr. Kirschtein. “What brings you here at this time a day?” 

I coughed. “Is Marco in?” 

“He’s busy. Sit down, boys. He’ll be with you in a second.” 

 

I sat down at my usual spot. Mr. Wilson brought both of us some coffee. Eren looked around him a while. The last time he had been here we had been so drunk that he probably couldn’t remember the place. 

Then, I saw Marco walking through the cafe. It took a while, but eventually Marco saw me too. He stopped in his track, and his eyes seemed to take me in completely. That felt good. His eyes were soft. But then, he saw Eren (who was still looking anywhere except from to Marco), and he understood. He looked back at me. Stared into my eyes, shocked. He bit his lip. I swallowed, rubbed my neck, then my head while looking away from Marco. I was weak for him. I couldn’t stare at him with the answers written all over me. I would start crying right here and now. 

Marco walked on, gave people their food. Took orders. Did what he had to do. Eren talked to me about his trip. I wasn’t listening. 

“We’ve been here for an hour.” Eren complained. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’ve got places to be.” 

I stared at Marco, never took my eyes off him. “He’ll come.”

“Jean. Look at me.” I didn’t. Eren sighed. “I need the house the day after tomorrow, make sure everything is empty by then.” 

Now I turned my head. “Give us more time.” 

“No, Jean. You’ll be alright. I’ll be moving the day after tomorrow.” and with that he got his coat off his chair and put it on. He carefully tied his scarf around his neck, and then took his suitcase off the floor. “Give me a cigarette for on the way.” 

I grabbed my pack out of my coat’s pocket and held it up for him. He took one cigarette, put it between his lips, and lit it with the candle that was standing on the table. Just when I was about to put my pack back, he pulled out another one and put it in his pocket. 

“Best of luck, Kirschtein.” 

 

It didn't take long after that, five maybe ten minutes. Marco walked up to me carefully, as if I’d stop him. He stood in front of me. “Why was Eren here?¨  

“Sit down, sweetheart.” 

He didn’t. He wouldn’t listen to me like he used to. That was a good thing.  It was good.  He was strong. “Don’t call me that, when we’re here.” He looked around him. I nodded.  “When did Eren get back?”

I  rubbed my neck, bowing it, and closing my eyes. “I don’t know, he came to my workplace today. Hasn’t been long, probably.”

“Jean..” 

“Can we go to the back room?” I whispered, almost begged. 

He looked around to see if it was busy, and then he nodded. I followed right behind him this time. As soon as the door was slammed closed I pushed him against it. Roughly, I kissed him against that door. He returned the kiss right away. Melting into it. Letting his hand caress my hair. I held his neck, kissed him even deeper. Bumped my nose against his.    
When we pulled back I stared at him demandingly, so that he wouldn’t be able to look away. “You know that I love you, right?” 

“I do.” 

“You know that I would give up the world for you right?”  He fell into silence.  “That wasn’t rhetorical.” I mumbled. 

He nodded. 

“Don’t leave me, please.” 

I saw him swallow. I saw him becoming weak again, afraid again. Maybe I hadn’t phrased it right. I just wanted to be sure. I wanted to know. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” He didn’t seem to believe me. “Eren came back with Mikasa.” 

“That’s good, right?-”

“They want the house. They’re going to live there, because they want a place in the woods, where no one can see them, too. It was Eren’s house to begin with, so he has all the right but-” 

I saw Marco think. I saw him put the pieces together in his mind. I saw him wanting to break down in tears, and then I saw him man up again. “Okay. Alright.” 

“I tried to talk to him about it but-” 

“It’s his house.” 

I nodded and put my forehead against the door, next to Marco’s head. My lips were almost touching his neck. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll.. I’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t turn to kiss me. Didn’t turn away from me. “How long do we have?” 

“Two nights.”

“Okay.” He said it slow. It was just another fact. 

“For a few days. Let me give you the money for an apartment for a few days.”    
Marco breath in deeply. He hated taking money for me. He hated the thought that someone would notice and beat him up. He hated the thought that someone would see and know about us. He hated people questioning where a black boy like him had gotten the money, and he hated how my money made him feel like less than he was.  

“I can live with my Mother.” 

“There is no way I’ll let you do that.”

“It’s not about what you’ll let me do.” 

“I’m your partner.” I whispered. 

He fell into silence and then he nodded.  “Sorry.”

“Look. They have so many kids. I wouldn’t be able to come around. You would live with your mother in one room again. That would not only be hard for you, but for your mother too, when she finally has her own room.” 

“You’re right.” 

“Marco, I’m going to try to do what’s best for you.” 

“What will you do?” 

“I’ll go to my parents until I found a good house or apartment.” But where the hell in would they find a place that gave them enough privacy? Where could both him and Marco walk outside in the morning without being afraid of their lives being touched or shortened. 

 

I went home before Marco. I could do all the work I had missed by leaving early another day. I didn’t even worry about that. There were a lot of things that I worried more about. 

As soon as I closed the front door of our home I stood still. From the hallway I stared into the living room. Like that, I saw the happiest part of our relationship pass me by. I saw the fireplace, with the small Jesus sculpture on top, and imagined Marco sitting there on his knees, like he had done when we had first made love. I saw Marco walking through the room, fully clothed, and I saw myself following in a bathrobe with messy hair.

I opened the door to the living room and walked to the kitchen. Stared at the coffee pot for way too long. That wasn’t even our damn coffee pot. Though it felt like it had become ours from all the times we had used it. I saw Marco carefully measuring coffee, like he did at work too, and pouring hot water on top of it with great care. I saw him glance over at my newspaper shyly. I saw him pour coffee for himself and me, right before sitting down and reading the newspaper he had bought himself. Folding the paper so he could focus on the small part about his revolution. Once in awhile, asking what a word meant, and when I told him smiling happily because he knew more now. He knew more every single day. 

I fell in love with him like that. With the him who was learning new things. 

I made myself a cup of coffee, it was way too much, and then walked through the house slowly. Mikasa and Eren would sit on this couch, the couch we had cuddles on, made love on. Maybe they would have sex on it too. Probably. 

I sipped my coffee and placed it on a random drawer. Then I lit a cigarette. My feet brought me upstairs, as if I saw doing a ritual. We had left the bed unmade this morning. You could still see where Marco had been lying and where I had been. There was one wooled comforter laying on the floor; we had kicked it off in our sleep. Next to the bed were socks, his bigger black and brown ones, my smaller white ones, and a sweater. I went to sleep with a sweater quite often, but always took it off when Marco warmed me up. 

I breath some of the smoke in. I must’ve looked ridiculous, standing in the middle of the room, staring at laundry

Just to do something, I walked down, took my coffee off the drawer again, and started putting candles on everywhere. Then I went out back and took some of the wood we had piled up. I made sure I had enough until Marco came, and piled them up next to the fireplace. I struggled with getting the wood to burn. Putting newspaper, after newspaper, after newspaper, into the fireplace against the wood. After some time the fire kept going. I threw some more wood on it just to be sure, and proudly looked at the fire. 

With the fire on I went to the kitchen and got all of the cheese, chips, and meat we had out. I put it all on a big plate and placed it on the table with some cups and smaller plates.

When everything was there I felt restless. I wanted Marco to come home. I couldn’t just sit down with a book. It felt a little wrong to do so. Eventually I decided to just stare at the fire. When the fire got smaller I threw a piece of wood on top of it again. 

I didn’t move when the door opened, and Marco walked in. “Jean..” I heard him say softly. 

“Welcome home, Marco.” 

He walked up to me and sat down next to me, in front of the fireplace. Welcome home, I had said. Like I had said it so many times before. 

“You are my home.” he said. “Is that a weird thing to say?” 

I shook my head. It was a little corny, maybe, but I understood exactly what he meant. “I tried to make out last nights here good.” 

Marco leaned over to kiss my cheek, then he snuggled his nose against my ear and kissed my neck softly. He turned his head to look at the fire too, while he was laying on my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while. Both of us stared at the fire and thought about what to do next, or what he had done up until now. It wasn’t like this was the end of us. I kept telling myself that.    
“I love fire.” 

I just nodded. We ate some of the food I had put on the table. Marco thanked me a few times, and half of the times I didn’t even know what he was thanking me for. We drank a lot of wine. That was nice. When Marco had had a few glasses he put on a Billie vinyl and started swaying around me. Billie Holiday was always a little bit sad. Her voice fit the way we felt. We were sad, but we could also dance with glasses of wine near the fireplace.  

I took Marco’s hips in my hands and his ass in my other one, then I swayed my hips against his. Pushed my face into his neck. “You’re dancing so different than the first time.” 

“I want you now.” 

“No not ‘cus of that. It’s.. you’s using your hips. You’s swaying.” 

“No, I actually just want to-” I pulled his hips closer to me and kissed his neck. “Trying to prove to you I can make you feel-”

He pushed me away a little, “You’s drunk.” 

“Yeah. I love you.” 

“That’s very sweet, baby.”

He kissed my neck sloppily. I pushed his face up. The fire was slowly dying out, great timing. “Let’s go to our bed.” 

“Our bed.” he repeated. Then we turned away from each other and each blew out some candles. With that we went upstairs. He pulled me through the hallway, his hand holding mine tightly.  As soon as we got into our bedroom he pulled me on the bed and let me kiss him all over. I softly kissed him in his neck and on his cheeks, then I roughly kissed him on his mouth, opening his lips with mine. 

He pulled off my shirt without a second thought. Then his warm fingers traced my hips. I closed my eyes as he touched me. I held his hair when he sucked my nipples. He bit into my skin, carefully. 

“You act like you can break me.” 

“Want you’feel good.” He mumbled in between kisses. He fisted me slowly while he was doing so. 

I let myself fall against him. “I- ah- I am.” 

He then turned me around and pushed me onto the bed softly. He took off his own pants calmly, I did mine as quick as I could.  He sat back down on the bed and leaned in. “It’ll be the last in this bed.” I placed my hand on his cheek. He leaned in to kiss me. With that kiss he came closer, pushing both of my legs up. 

“Don’t leave me.” I told him again. The same way I had told him earlier that day.  He shook his head, breath out, and pushed his fingers inside of me. He moved fast, letting some lube drip on top of his fingers while he was still inside of me. “Please,” I whimpered. 

I meant that in more ways than one. 

Marco pulled his fingers out of me and replaced them with his penis. The lip came in slowly, opened my ass a little more. I pushed my fingers into the arm he had placed next to my head. My nails pushing into his skin so hard you’d see marks the next day. “Feeling good?”

“I want you.” He took that as an yes. That was my yes. He started moving slowly. His face was hanging above mine. He stared at me, and at my body. I tried to focus on him, but my eyes closed, stared turned. From time to time he’d stop moving in the same rhythm just to kiss me deeply. That was nice. He clumsily pushed inside of me even when it was hard in that position. The sweat from his face touched my skin. He gripped my hips and pulled them towards his roughly.

I stared at the freckled on his chest. They moved when he did and I somehow loved that. They became vague because I couldn’t see clear. “I love your freckles.” 

He seemed surprised by my timing to say such a thing, but smiled anyway. His hands were still on my hips. He fucked me slowly. “They love’n you too,” he said it right before a thrust, that was good. I believed him.

 

 

The next day was weird. It wasn’t hell, it wasn’t lovely. The morning was awfully quiet. When I woke up Marco was still next to me. He had asked for a day off so we could move. I stared at him. He looked tired. He had dark bags under his eyes when his face was neutral. I places my hand on his cheek. 

When he woke up I told him good morning, but after that we spoke very little.  I showered while he went down. When I walked into the kitchen he handed me my coffee in silence. We ate together. He stroked my hand, but it made the silence louder. 

Once we were finished I just got up, Marco followed, and took my suitcases from the closet. “It’s crazy how little stuff is actually ours.” Marco mumbled. 

I nodded and threw my shirts inside of the suitcase roughly. 

“Jean, calm down.” Marco came stand beside me and put one hand on my shoulder, before lifting all of my shirts out of the suitcase again, and putting them on the bed. One at a time, he started folding the shirts carefully. All his attention went to my shirts. I took a few and followed him. Like that we carefully, in silence, put all my shirts away. We did the same with my pants, socks, underwear, and eventually my ties. I rolled the ties around my hand and put them in one bag. 

“Jean.. this tie.” He held it up and smiled. It was the tie my father had given us. 

I took it from his hands. “I’ll wear it today.” 

Marco stepped closer to me. “Let me.”  His hands slowly undid the tie I had around my neck, the touch made me nervous, excited, and then he wrapped the other tie around my neck. “You look good,” he told me. 

“I’m tired. I haven’t slept.” 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

He finished the tie, wiggled it so it was sitting straight, and then he smiled.

When we had packed almost everything we went into the livingroom and kitchen to check if we hadn’t left anything there. There was still wood and newspapers laying near the fireplace. The pillows looked like they had been slept on. Marco made sure that we wouldn’t leave obvious traces. As if he wanted to get our existence out of the house. He walked with me to the kitchen. There were the plates and cups we had eaten from that day. Marco started washing them. Lastly, he cleaned the coffee pot.  He dried it carefully and put it on the shelf.  

“Wait..”

Marco looked over his shoulder. “What?” 

“Can you give me the coffee pot?” 

“Why, I just cleaned it. Do you want some mo-” 

“C’mon, just hand it to me,” I interrupted him. 

He took the coffee pot off the shelf again and handed it to me. He awkwardly looked at what I was doing with it. I was smiling, I felt, and I hadn’t smiled all day.  “Jean, baby, what are you doing?” He followed me into the living room. I opened up the suitcase I had standing there. 

“I’m stealing the coffee pot.”  

He stared at me, breathless, surprised, and then he burst into laughter. “You’re insane.” 

He loved that coffee pot. I know that he enjoyed making coffee, and that doing so for me was his way of showing he cared, and wanted to take care of me. Insane didn’t even begin to describe all the things I’d be for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and kudo to let me know you're reading this! It keeps me going. Love.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, please comment!
> 
> I'd like to thank my precious beta reader https://archiveofourown.org/users/acowworthfightingfor/pseuds/acowworthfightingfor ((:


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